


First Flowers

by flowerofnettles



Series: Seo Gaestlufe/The Soul's Love [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur doesn't die AU, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Arthur, Love Confessions, M/M, Merlin/Arthur - Freeform, Merthur - Freeform, Oblivious Arthur, Pining, Plot With Porn, Protective Arthur, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), canon AU, except the bad guys of course, for all parties involved, last in a series, matchmaker Gwaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-20 01:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerofnettles/pseuds/flowerofnettles
Summary: Canon AU (last in a series). While visiting Nemeth as honored guests at Queen Mithian's wedding, it's becoming harder and harder for Merlin to control his newly-discovered feelings for Arthur. After an unpleasant confrontation with an anti-magic knight, Merlin's troubles only get worse--a small army of rebels attack in the dark, forcing them to flee the city into the forest beyond. Meanwhile, Arthur isn't sure he completely likes the way Sir Rayne of Nemeth looks at Merlin...although what this annoying twist is in his gut every time he sees them together, he's not sure. And Gwaine has a running bet with Mithian regarding a certain king and warlock's relationship.ORThe One in Which Arthur Finally Realizes He's an Idiot





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last fic in my little series! I am so so thankful for everyone who has commented and/or left kudos on the other three fics. Being brand-new on AO3, I wasn't expecting to get even half of the attention these stories got and I appreciate you all so much! This final story actually ended up being much longer than I planned and it was a challenge to write. I really wanted it to have the feel of a typical two-parter season finale; it ended up longer thanks to the Merthur aspects, so I lengthened it to three parts so ya’ll wouldn’t have to read a 20,000+-word chapter. x) I just wanted you to know I went for the traditional two-episode season finale vibe. Let me know how I did, please! <3
> 
> Also I just want ya'll to know that it took me forever to come up with a title just now, because I've literally been calling this fic "the one in which Arthur finally realizes he's an idiot" the whole time I've been writing it. I'm sure you can guess why. ;) (The official title represents all the new beginnings this fic has for so many characters.)
> 
> Sorry about rambling so much! x) Hope you enjoy!!

It was in early spring that a glorious and rare event occurred in the grand hall of Camelot. Leon actually announced something interesting during a round table meeting.

“And finally,” he said, at the end of a list so dull Sir Bavol had fallen asleep in his seat, “we received a message from Nemeth this morning. Queen Mithian has invited King Arthur and his royal party to celebrate her marriage on the twentieth of this month.”

Arthur had been indecorously slumped in his own chair for most of the hour-long assessment of the kingdom’s financial and social status, but now he sat up with a glad smile that brightened his eyes. It had been many years since he had sent then-Princess Mithian back home to her father King Rodor with a denial of marriage because of his love for Guinevere. (1) Though a less wise woman may have retained some bitterness over such a debacle, Mithian had made it clear she wanted nothing but to be a friend of Arthur and her kingdom an ally of Camelot. She was as bold and intelligent as she was beautiful, and as admirable a leader as her father had been before her. To hear she had finally found someone deserving of her certainly made the unusually chilly springtime much warmer and brighter.

Arthur could practically feel the sudden excitement pouring off Merlin, who sat as always on his right at the table, the only informally-dressed man in a circle of polished armor and red capes. Sure enough, his sorcerer was beaming now, having sat straight up at the news where he, too, had been slouching indifferently for the last half-hour.

“That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed, his enthusiasm spreading to the others and even serving to wake up Sir Bavol, who jolted slightly with a grunt of surprise. “A wedding in the spring is the best kind. Does it say who the man is?”

Every man at the table smiled more out of fondness for their endearingly boyish warlock than over the news itself.

“No, not exactly,” answered Leon with a chuckle, as he scanned the parchment again. “The name is Eldom Fenn, but I have never heard it and there is no official title mentioned here. If you are to accept the invitation, sire, we must begin making plans immediately. It will take extra time to reach Nemeth with the roads still in poor condition from the winter.”

Arthur turned to look to Merlin, who grinned at him with sparkling ocean eyes, oblivious to everyone’s amusement. Even if the king had been considering not going, he knew he would have had no real choice; he couldn’t even resist a smile at his sorcerer’s bright exuberance. 

“We’ll leave as soon as arrangements can be made for our absence,” he told Leon. “Gather a traveling party of volunteers who wish to accompany us.”

“Yes, sire.”

As they departed the grand hall and began to walk back to his chambers so he could change out of his official armor, Arthur wondered if there would ever come a day when his journey through the corridors would be a quiet one. For nearly a decade he and Merlin had been walking this very same path through the castle, and every day was exactly the same as when he’d been an inexperienced young prince with an inexperienced new manservant. The babbling just _never stopped_ , and it seemed to have gotten worse since his four-month disappearance and subsequent return that past autumn. It was like Merlin was still trying to make up for lost time.

“What sort of gift do you think we should bring? Perhaps a new crossbow? The queen does love hunting. Oh, but no, not a crossbow. That would hardly a gift for a bride, especially for a queen. We should get her a dress—a nice dark red or blue silk dress would look lovely on her. Or would that be a bit inappropriate? It might be, since you were her intended at one point. We definitely don’t want to send the wrong message. Oh! But, Arthur, it won’t be uncomfortable for you, will it? I didn’t even think about that, but since you were engaged, you won’t feel strange going, will you?”

Arthur stopped walking, and his friend instantly halted as well, like his own shadow.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he drew out the eternally familiar name, torn between hilarity and exasperation, “would you, please, relax? We are not _in_ the wedding, nor are we planning it. We’re just attending, as guests of our good friend Queen Mithian. There is no need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” his warlock answered, blinking as if _Arthur_ were the strange one, as though he’d been acting completely calm and not blabbering away at a hundred leagues a minute, as usual.

“Good.”

He turned and started walking again, and Merlin rushed to keep up, walking so close their arms kept bumping even though there was no foot traffic in the corridor. He’d learnt long ago to ignore that, too, and now it was just as normal as the babbling.

“I just want to make sure our time there is good,” he continued, not quite as energetically as before but still _talking_. “Winter was long and dark and it still hasn’t gotten very warm yet. I feel a happy celebration would be good for you, that’s all.”

“Indeed it will,” he agreed, unlocking the door to his chambers and holding it open for his friend. “I have only the best wishes for Mithian. I hope that this man, whoever he is, will make her happy.”

“Me too,” agreed the sorcerer. “I’m glad she was able to find someone to do that.”

Arthur could not know it, because after playfully tossing his detached cape at his sorcerer’s face, he had turned away to dig through his wardrobe in search of a shirt. But halfway through the words, Merlin smile fell a bit and his eyes settled meaningfully on his friend’s back.

Since the night of Arthur’s return from the Dark Tower, when Merlin had professed his deepest feelings in the quiet of these very rooms, he had not mentioned any more about it. Arthur, in turn, had not asked. They had fallen into the same routines as before, as easy as breathing, and in the nearly eight months that had passed, Merlin was sure his friend had all but forgotten about his confession. After all, from the king’s perspective, nothing had changed. They still talked as they always had, teasing and pushing at one another most of the time while discussing solemn thoughts and ideas other times; they walked along the same halls and roads in the palace and the town as they went about their daily duties; they ate every meal together and shared nearly every daylight hour in between; and oftentimes Merlin remained well into the evening to talk or just sit contentedly by the fire in silence. He arrived first thing every morning and left late every night; usually Arthur’s face was the first and last he saw.

He could almost be happy with that, almost. In a melancholy sort of way it was funny, how he had once been totally unaware of how Arthur’s voice rang pleasantly in his ears, how his gaze settling exclusively on him felt so special, how his playful and doting touches sparked warmly on his skin. He was acutely aware of it all now, though, and with it came the longing—longing to hear that voice speak words of answering love, to feel those eyes looking at him the same way he looked at Arthur when he couldn’t see, to feel those touches turn greedy and move slowly over every part of his skin in the candlelight of these chambers.

He realized his thoughts had drifted again, as they’d been doing quite a lot the last several months. Merlin shoved them away until he was in his own chambers later that night and could stave off the more passionate fantasies with his own hand. It wasn’t ideal, but it was manageable. He counted himself lucky that Arthur hadn’t let it affect their friendship in the least, as he’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Help me with these, would you?”

Arthur gestured vaguely to his attire, and Merlin sighed faintly and stood up off the foot of the bed to help him undress. He was grateful he still had this honor, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything, but seeing the expanse of perfect skin in the light streaming through the window, as he helped remove the layers of clothing oftentimes down to nothing…well, there was a reason he’d started keeping his eyes steadfastly _up_. Arthur was as much the striking golden king below the waist as he was above, and Merlin didn’t dare risk revealing just how detailed his little fantasies had gotten. Not only did he have no desire to make his friend uncertain or uncomfortable around him, but he also wanted to keep his head _attached_ to his body, thank you. Arthur may not have executed him for magic but there was every chance he would for unwelcome lust.Though he preferred not to think about it, Merlin knew this couldn’t last forever. Even if he wished it could and he was determined to do everything to make it so, someday some kind-hearted visitor in an elegant yet modest gown would catch his friend’s eye. Despite everything with Lancelot, Arthur had mourned over Guinevere for many months after her passing, but he was beyond that now. It may not be long before Merlin would be helping him dress in his ceremonial robes and reverently placing the crown on his head, and then he would stand at the front of the crowd in the main hall and chant once again, _“Long live the queen.”_

He’d once thought Arthur rejecting his magic would be the worst pain he could experience. Though he could never hold it against his friend, he certainly knew better now.

\--------------------------------------

Queen Mithian greeted Arthur with a sweet, gentle embrace the moment they arrived in her high throne room at Nemeth, and then allowed Merlin to kiss her hand respectfully.

“I am so pleased you could make it,” she told the king, her voice full of soft sincerity that matched the look in her eyes. “Both of you.”

Merlin acknowledged her inclusion of him with a smile and nod, and then she turned to hold one hand out to a man who stood watching patiently nearby. He was very handsome (though, Merlin thought with a secret superficial pride, not as handsome as Arthur), with dark hair that framed his square face in smooth waves and eyes a pale shade of wintery blue. His frame was narrower than Arthur’s, and his dark-colored clothes, while nice quality, were not of a king or prince. He took Mithian’s outstretched hand gently in one of his; with the other he shook Arthur’s in a commanding grip that bespoke confidence and strength of character.

“I am Eldom, your highness,” he said with appropriate humility. “It is a privilege to meet you at last. Mithian speaks very highly of you.”

“Thank you. It’s good to meet you too,” Arthur answered, releasing his hand. “This is my sorcerer and top advisor, Merlin.”

“I have heard great things about you as well,” Eldom said, shaking Merlin’s hand in turn. “I am so glad you are both here to help us celebrate. For myself, it is a great honor, and I know it will make it that much more memorable for Mithian.”

“Well,” said the queen, lacing her fingers with her fiancé’s, “you have only ever been here a few times, Arthur, and because of the circumstances you’ve always remained here in the palace. This time it is much less formal, and so I was thinking perhaps a tour? Our little city is no Camelot, but it has its charms, if you’d like to see them.”

Arthur smiled modestly at the compliment to his own beloved city.

“I would be happy to,” he said honestly. “Merlin?”

The sorcerer nodded his approval of the idea. Nemeth was famed for its spices and herbal variety, and he was excited to see some of the shops that might sell new ingredients for him to try in his spells. 

Half an hour later, the four of them—accompanied by some of the men from Camelot as well as some of Mithian’s guards—made their way through the lively streets. Shoppers moved out of their way with curtsies of esteem, sellers anxiously hoped one of them would stop by their stands, and children curiously peeked out from around places where they’d hidden from the intimidating soldiers in their armor. Mithian had been correct; though not quite as impressive as Camelot’s Lower Town, the city of Nemeth had its own valuable beauty. At the very least, it was full of happy people with adequate wealth to live peacefully together. To Arthur, that was better than any costly buildings or attire.

The knights from Camelot dispersed to try some of the food and drink and to flirt with some of the prettier vendors, while Arthur and Merlin remained in pace with Mithian and Eldom.

“So tell me,” the king of Camelot said as they took a corner and lingered at a stand full of baked goods, “how did you meet?”

Eldom glanced to Mithian, who smiled demurely and turned to look at a scarf, allowing him to answer for her.

“I am merely the son of a farmer, sire,” the man said, ever-humbly but without shame. “My father’s farm was next door to a horse breeder, and I was able to get some little work there every once in a while as a boy. This allowed me to be close to the horses, and I found I had some small talent for them.”

“Small talent indeed,” said Mithian, who had not been as occupied with the scarf as she’d pretended. “He won the contest we hold here every year. He was the first commoner ever to do so.”

Eldom blushed faintly at her unabashed praise, as she slipped her arm through his.

“That’s wonderful,” Merlin said, recognizing a kindred mind in Eldom’s history.

“I thought it was, since it came with a small fortune to open my own stables,” Eldom agreed, and then his voice dropped as he turned to meet the eyes of his bride-to-be, “until I got the true reward—the honor of dining with the queen.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Arthur said, “I see. And now here we are, preparing for a wedding.”

“Not quite that quickly,” Mithian answered with amusement, “but more or less, that is the story.”

Merlin couldn’t help but beam at the subtle love light in each pair of eyes as they smiled at one another, but then his eyes caught something a little down the adjacent road that none of them noticed. As Arthur began to ask Eldom about his methods of horse training, Merlin slipped away from them into the mass of minglers. 

Halfway down the lane, one of the knights of Nemeth—not one that had accompanied them, but apparently one of the town patrol—had a small boy by the arm and was shaking him. A shopkeeper loomed nearby, between the boy and a stand full of apples, his sunburnt face stormy with anger as he glared at the child; he had an apple in one fist, just visible under his elbow where his arms were crossed. Merlin could not understand what the knight said because of the noise of the crowd, but all three were so enwrapped in the little dispute that none saw him approach.

“What’s going on?”

At his cool inquiry, both the men looked up in surprise. He realized now that the knight was perhaps six or seven years younger than himself, with skin a few shades darker than Elyan’s and black stubble that neatly lined his strong, angular jaw and emphasized his high cheekbones. His eyes were undoubtedly his most expressive feature, as the rest of his face was stony, but they flashed with intensity. (2)

“What has it to do with you?” the shopkeeper intoned demandingly, obviously in an ill temper.

“I’m asking,” Merlin answered simply.

“And who are you?”

Merlin knew neither man would recognize him as a guest of the queen, since he had only just arrived and was wearing nice but simple traveling clothes. There were many well-dressed individuals traversing the market, and Merlin had never needed to toss out prominent names to stand up for himself or anyone else.

“I’m a traveler,” he said, “staying in Nemeth for a few days. I asked what happened.”

The little boy twisted in the knight’s grasp to get a look at the man who had dared interrupt a knight performing his duty. Merlin kept his eyes evenly on the knight’s, but hoped the little boy recognized a friend when he saw one.

“If you must know,” the knight said, only a bit less tempered than the shopkeeper, “this boy tried using a magical charm to steal an apple from this man’s stand.”

He tossed to the ground a mostly-eaten apple with a sigil carved into its brown and rotting flesh. Obviously the child, having heard of illusory spells to make one thing seem like another for a time, had tried replacing the stolen apple with a rotten core to get away before it turned back. Merlin doubted it had ever worked; the boy had probably just hoped to sneak away before being seen, but it was a creative application of the spell to be sure.

“I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from,” the knight continued, "but we do not promote that kind of thievery here.”

“And do you promote the mistreatment of children here, then?”

The knight looked startled at such an accusation, and his grip unconsciously relaxed on the boy’s arm even while his expression became offended.

“No, of course not,” he answered, sharply, “but we cannot allow these kinds of ideas to spread. Soon it will lead to magic being used for all sorts of crimes.”

“I propose,” said the shopkeeper though no one had asked, “that he be put in the stocks for a day. That’ll teach him not to steal from hard-working people.”

“If you try,” Merlin answered back with a chilling look, “you’ll have to lock me up, too, because I will not allow it. Release the boy.”

“But—” the shopkeeper attempted to start.

“Here,” Merlin interrupted, retrieving a bag of silver coins from his pocket and tossing one to the burly, obnoxious man. “I’m sure that’s enough for the trouble he’s caused you, isn’t it?”

The man looked as though he wanted to protest, but the gleaming coin prompted him to keep his mouth shut, as Merlin had guessed it would.

“Now,” the warlock said to the knight, “release him.”

The knight obeyed after a tense moment, and the boy appeared as though he wished to run but was either too afraid or curious to try. Instead, he remained fixed where he was, gazing up at Merlin with wide green eyes under a messy mop of brown bangs.

Merlin bent and retrieved the rotten apple core from the dirt. Prying one of the exposed seeds from it, he held it in one palm as he threw the old core aside again.

“Magic,” he said, remaining crouched down at eye-level with the child, “is not to be used to steal, harm, or destroy. That is not its purpose. It should only ever be used to help others, and to create good things.”

At that, he held up the seed in his hand so the boy could see it clearly.

_“Grewest se appel."_

As though a whole season of growth occurred in seconds, the seed in his palm blossomed into a bright red apple much larger and shinier than any on the shopkeeper’s cart. He heard the big man’s heavy breaths stutter and watched in veiled amusement as the little boy’s mouth fell open.

“Remember what I told you,” he instructed firmly.

The little boy nodded vehemently and held his hands out to catch the fruit when he tossed it at him. He grinned at Merlin excitedly for a moment as a thank-you, and then rushed away to disappear into the throng of people, presumably either to consume his prize in peace or tell someone what he’d witnessed, or both.

Merlin stood and ignored the blankly gaping shopkeeper who stood with one of his apples in one hand and the silver coin in the other. Instead, he turned his attention upon the knight, who looked considerably less impressed.

“That is how we deal with children where I am from,” he said.

“I see,” the knight bit out. “You reward them for committing a crime using dangerous powers they should not be messing with.”

“Magic is only as dangerous as the person wielding it,” Merlin answered, calm but unapologetic. “I hardly think a misbehaving child who can’t even get a charm to work deserves to be punished for a magical crime.”

“Magic is _dangerous_ ,” the man barked back with all the might of the warrior he undoubtedly was, his fists clenching as he shook one in the air at Merlin’s insolence. “We have strict laws regulating it in this land—as we should. I can see no reason why magic is necessary in any kingdom. I have gotten along my entire life without it. There’s no reason why anyone else shouldn’t.”

“Everyone is allowed to think what he wants,” Merlin answered, duly familiar with such arguments. “But as long as the laws of Nemeth state that magic is permitted, are you not duty-bound to uphold those laws, Sir?”

He could see the knight biting his tongue to control his temper, and his dark eyes cut to the shopkeeper, who was looking quite out of his depth by now and was probably regretting the whole thing. Then the knight looked back to Merlin and unclenched his fists, retaining command over his own emotions in favor of upholding the noble knight’s code.

“And so I shall,” he agreed. “You are correct, stranger. It is not my place to argue with the laws of this kingdom.”

At that moment, a familiar, mighty voice rose above the din of the crowd.

“Merlin!”

He could not see his friend because of all the people, but the summons was unmistakeable. With one last glance to the shopkeeper and the knight, he turned and walked away, satisfied he had done the right thing.

“There you are,” Arthur called out to him when they spotted one another. “Where the hell did you disappear off to?”

“Just talking to some of the people,” Merlin replied, allowing it when Arthur draped one arm over his shoulders and lugged him toward their party, who were obviously ready to return.

“Leave it to Merlin to babble some poor merchant’s ear off the first hour we’re here,” Arthur teased him loudly.

Mithian, Eldom, and the Camelot knights (who were, of course, very familiar with the routine) all overheard and smiled in entertainment as Merlin frowned moodily at him.

“Was she pretty, Merlin?” Leon joked, apparently taking Arthur’s side this time.

Merlin thought back to the merchant in question, whose sweaty bald head and ugly sneer were hardly attributes highly sought-after.

“Prettier than you,” he shot back.

Leon’s startled laughter was joined by the others, and Merlin indulged in the sound of Arthur’s most of all. At least he would allow himself that privilege without feeling guilty for his silent pining.

\--------------------------------------

It was part of Nemethian tradition that a marriage celebration last several days leading up to the final ceremony in which the two would become husband and wife. Even if that were not the usual, however, Queen Mithian would probably have spread out the banquet across several days anyway. She had been searching for many years for a good man to whom she could entrust herself and her kingdom, and now that she had it, she was happy to share her joy with all her guests. Eldom, who seemed to fit in easily with the courtiers and knights, seemed as happy as his bride-to-be, sharing drinks and energetic conversation with all in the banquet hall with her at his side. Music played and some danced, while others picked at the treats set up on all the large tables, and still many more huddled against the walls and chatted amiably.

The feast had only been going for an hour before Merlin spotted a familiar face in the crowd of green-caped knights who had just returned from their forest patrol. He had suspected the knight from the marketplace might be here tonight, or at least one of the nights of the feast, and he already had his intentions set on what he would do. He had met many who refused to see the good in magic, but he would never stop trying.

He waited until the knight had greeted all of his friends and was fetching himself a cup of wine from the drink table before he approached him shrewdly. Even with his attempt at delicacy, the knight jumped at the sight of him, his face losing some of its flush from the hall’s warmth and conversation.

“What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, before his eyes drifted down to Merlin’s fine formal clothes.

Arthur had insisted they be made from the same luxurious fabrics as his own, to give a good impression at events such as this. Merlin had protested, but in the end Arthur had won and so his attire, while overly showy in his mind, sparked many compliments from others. He was even asked once or twice if he was a prince himself. Unlike in the marketplace earlier, there was no mistaking his status now.

“We didn't get to exchange names today,” the warlock said with his genuinely friendliest crooked smile. “I’m Merlin.”

He reached his hand out in greeting.

The knight took it, more out of instinct than anything, as he was still processing what he’d heard.

“Merlin,” he repeated, apparently realizing where he recognized the name, “court sorcerer to the king of Camelot.”

“Yes,” he replied, without pride or haughtiness. “I hoped perhaps we could start over again.”

The man pulled his hand from Merlin’s grasp at that, and the shadow that crossed over his features was one of indecision that quickly turned into hostility.

“All due respect, I’m not sure I want to start over,” came the unapologetic answer. “In fact, I am sure I do _not_.”

“Right, well, is there at least a name I could call you so I don’t have to keep thinking of you as ‘the wanker from the market’?” Merlin replied without any hesitation.

Clearly he was not used to visiting courtiers using such language toward an esteemed knight, and so a look of shock erased his hostility to a moment, but then it returned twofold.

“I am Sir Rayne,” he said—more declared, really, “knight of Nemeth, and I do not appreciate your insolence, either in the market today or here. No matter who you are, you are fortunate I did not choose to put you in the dungeons in that boy’s place.”

“Ah, yes, well, lucky for me I know how to use magic to open dungeon doors. Magic is useful like that, you know, and for other things as well.”

The knight’s nostrils flared at that.

“I have no desire to hear any more from you, sorcerer,” he snapped, slamming his cup upon the table with such force others might have looked if the room wasn’t so loud. “You and your kind will eventually bring nothing but darkness to this land. Of this I have no doubt.”

“If you cannot trust me, surely you trust your queen’s judgement at least,” Merlin said. “I am here with my king at her request. It was she who agreed to remove the laws condemning magic in Nemeth when Arthur did so in Camelot.”

“I understand my queen’s reasoning,” he answered, deftly avoiding a direct answer with a flash of anger in his darkening eyes. “I even understand that you may not realize the evil you possess, but I know you have sold your soul to magic and if you do not get out now, you’ll never be able to go back. I have seen what it can do. It’s only a matter of time before it will reveal itself in you as the wicked thing it is. But I realize that my opinion does not matter, because you will do as you wish—you and all the others. I can only be prepared to help stop you when the time comes.”

There were _a lot_ of points in that little tirade Merlin would have liked to address. It would have been so easy to pick out any one of the more offensive ones and shoot his own poisoned arrows back. Despite his frustration, however, there was one phrase that stuck out in the more rational side of his mind— _“I have seen what it can do.”_ He could only wonder what that meant, because before he could think of a way to ask without coming across as either groveling or hostile himself, a woman courtier in a pale pink gown swayed up to them.

“Sir Rayne,” she said, grasping the man’s muscled arm, “I have been searching all over for you. Did you just return from patrol?”

Rayne was still looking at Merlin with a potent depth in his eyes that reminded the sorcerer in a flash of Arthur in his more volatile moods.

“Yes, I did,” the knight replied to her, sounding a bit cold as he never removed his frigid eyes from Merlin’s.

Both the warlock and the knight held one another’s gazes, each unwilling to look away first, as the woman began to talk about the music and the weather and some gossip someone had told her about a maid and a stablehand.

Unbeknownst to Merlin, while he had been talking to Rayne, a different pair of brown eyes took notice across the room. Gwaine, perhaps a little too drunk already but sensing an opportunity in his haze, slipped over the Arthur, who was talking with Mithian and Eldom by the platter of meats. When he tapped his king’s arm to get his attention, the queen and her future husband turned away to chat with other friends, leaving Gwaine free to speak in Arthur’s ear.

“Who’s that Merlin’s talking to, eh?”

Arthur followed his gaze to the windows across the way, and saw what Gwaine meant. Although there was a young woman in a pink dress talking animatedly right in front of him, Merlin’s eyes were trained upon some young knight’s with a severity rarely present in him. The Nemethian knight looked evenly in return with a clench in his jaw that was visible even across the room.

“Should I go over and pull them apart?”

Arthur looked away and blinked in confusion at their slightly knackered friend.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Gwaine hummed around another mouthful of wine, “I don’t know about you, but to me it looks like there’s a fair amount of _tension_ there, the kind that’s often best resolved in the dark on a cot, against a wall, spread out on a pile of hay in the back of a barn—”

“Yes, all right,” Arthur interrupted him, wary of a lady overhearing, and then spoke in a slightly heightened voice that indicated a brotherly sort of ridicule, “You know what I think? I think you’re a bit drunk, Sir Gwaine. You should probably keep your thoughts to yourself because they do get a bit muddled after your fifth wine.”

“All I’m saying is,” the man continued, unaffected, pushing his king’s shoulder companionably, “the last time anyone looked at me like that fetching young knight is looking at our Merlin, I got so worn out that I had the best sleep of my life, if you know what I mean.”

Arthur started to look properly disgusted at having any insight into _that_ portion of Gwaine’s life, but he abruptly recognized that he wasn’t wrong. While everyone else in the room was talking and laughing and joking, Merlin and this stranger were staring at one another in silence. It definitely did look strange.

Gwaine sauntered away to find someone else to disturb, and Arthur continued to watch. Eventually, the woman courtier managed to tug the knight’s brawny arm hard enough to get his attention. He allowed her to pull him away, but he continued to cast glances back at Merlin until they were well across the room. Merlin, in turn, did not stop looking at him until he disappeared in a chattering crowd. Then, his sorcerer turned, got a cupful of wine from the bowl before him, and downed it in a few gulps.

Arthur reached out without looking away and tapped on Mithian’s arm where she was standing close by, laughing with her companions.

“Yes? _Yes_ , Arthur, what is it?”

“What can you tell me about that knight?”

She followed his gaze to where he gestured a short distance away, by the high, night-darkened stained glass windows lining the banquet hall. Arthur did not like the way her eyes clouded a bit when she realized who he meant.

“That is Sir Rayne,” she said. “He came to us five years ago from the eastern edge of the kingdom. He is an excellent warrior and a good man. He does a great deal to help our people, even beyond what is required of him. Why do you ask?”

“He was talking to Merlin.”

He tried to think of something to add onto that which might explain his moody interest, but found he had no real reason. Despite Merlin’s confession to him eight months before, he had just never considered it—Merlin, in bed with a man like that, or with a man at _all_ —and there was something about it that he did not like. He realized Mithian looked a bit troubled herself.

“That may not be a very good thing, Arthur,” she said lowly. “I trust all my best knights with my life, and Rayne is one of the very best, but he does have a bit of a prejudice towards those with magic.”

“What do you mean?” the words were tumbling out of his mouth with more alarm than he intended.

“It’s nothing I would fear causing a problem,” she said quickly. “I do not know all the details—he’s hardly ever spoken of his past before he arrived here. Apparently he lost his family due to magic, somehow, and now he bears a great distrust of it. You must understand that he would never harm anyone who practices magic. As I said, he is a good man and a great knight, but I would hate for Merlin to get a poor impression from him.”

Arthur looked to Merlin once again, who was leaning against the wine table now, sipping from his cup. His gaze was on Rayne, who kept likewise looking up where he stood amongst a giggling group of knights and noblewomen. Gwaine had been right; there was definitely tension there, but now Arthur feared it was not the kind he had imagined. Either way, he felt a rush of protectiveness and vowed to keep his eyes on Merlin for the rest of the evening.

\--------------------------------------

Merlin, after another several minutes of the odd silent exchange, moved to stand near Arthur once again. He behaved as though nothing had happened, even when Arthur asked if he was all right; he simply flashed that disarming smile he’d always done so perfectly and said he was fine. Still, Arthur was quite pleased that he remained at his side for the rest of the evening. Watching that strange, brief interlude with Rayne had felt simply wrong.

They were both only moderately drunk by the end, but very tired. Merlin almost took a wrong turn getting back to Arthur’s guest chambers in the western part of the palace, and Arthur had to grasp at his collar to guide him in the right direction. By the time Merlin finished helping Arthur change, they were both yawning deeply and Arthur practically tumbled into the large bed that was only slightly less comfortable than his own. He didn’t bother with a night shirt, because though it was chilly outside Mithian kept the castle warm.

Merlin pattered around the bed, picking up the king’s discarded clothes out of habit. Watching him with a sense of comfortable fondness, the king remembered there was something he wanted to say.

“Merlin.”

“Hm?”

“You were talking to one of the knights of Nemeth earlier.”

“We talked to many knights of Nemeth today.”

“No, you weren’t with me. This one was called Sir Rayne.”

The king watched closely as Merlin paused in this midst of his unnecessary task, and Arthur kept going, interrupted only by a long yawn somewhere in his next words.

“I want you to stay away from him. Mithian told me that he is biased against those who practice magic.”

“Did she say why?” Merlin asked, dropping the dirty clothes into a neater pile in the corner in absence of a laundry basket.

“No. All she knows is that he lost his family somehow, and it seems to have had something to do with magic.”

Sympathy made Merlin’s eyes fall to the floor for a moment. If that were true, in whatever manner it happened, he could understand better why the man might have acted as he had.

“Mithian doesn’t believe he would ever try to hurt you,” Arthur continued, shoving himself up and shifting around to get more relaxed, “but all the same, I don’t want you to talk to him anymore.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes suspiciously as a smile tugged on his lips. He approached the bed to help untangle the covers where Arthur had accidentally wrapped them into a knot at his legs.

“Are you worried about me?” he inquired, innocently enough but with just the smallest bit of teasing.

“No,” Arthur denied, a little too loudly, as he always did when he was lying and didn’t much care whether Merlin saw through him or not, “I just don’t want you to start an incident with Nemeth. You’re the one who said you wanted to have a good time here.”

“I can take care of myself, you know, Arthur.”

“I never said you couldn’t. Now would you just obey your king without questioning every little thing I say?”

Merlin fought a smile, but it came through nevertheless. (He wasn’t really fighting that hard.)

“Yes, my lord,” he said with a false bow.

He only narrowly avoided the pillow as it flew through the air toward his head, but in dodging it, he caused it to strike the decorative statuette posed gracefully on a nearby table. The figure went hurtling to the floor, its head striking first and breaking off to go rolling a rather dramatic distance away, leaving the rest of its body looking quite tragic in the shadowy part of the floor.

Merlin and Arthur met eyes, and perhaps they were both a little more drunk than they thought, because the king burst out laughing so heartily he had to fall back against the pillows to breathe properly. Merlin laughed as well, just from the sound of his king’s unrestrained laughter. He would never be over how that sound made him feel, as warm as a fire at night after a cold hunt. He was happy to spend the rest of his days ensuring Arthur could laugh like that.

It was in the middle of their amusement that a man’s shout sounded from somewhere distant outside the window. It was swiftly followed by more shouts, hazy and indistinct.

Arthur’s laughter faded but he kept smiling as Merlin, likewise still chuckling a bit, wandered over to the window to see what drunk nobleman was causing all the commotion. He was confused, however, at seeing three palace guards rushing along the wide guard wall visible from the guest room window, not swaying or stumbling as drunk men do, but racing with a purpose until they were out of sight, moving toward the citadel.

“Merlin, what is it?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, as he started to see what he thought was movement in the forest beyond. It was hard to be sure, though, with the lit torches close on the castle walls blinding him.

He heard Arthur get out of bed and felt his presence behind him. Arthur’s hand rested on Merlin’s hip as he leaned over his shoulder to look. The moment he did, scores of men in dark clothes, faces wrapped and brandishing weapons and torches, came bursting from the brush outside the castle.

Merlin and Arthur had both experienced enough similar scenes to know what that meant. With one knowing look shared between them, the two leapt into action—Arthur rushing to put his boots and shirt on while Merlin found the king’s most prized sword where he’d hidden it in the wardrobe. He helped Arthur get on the first jacket he could find in the unpacked luggage and placed Excalibur in his hand.

After that, everything happened blindingly fast.

They encountered Mithian and Eldom in the main hall, as screams and crashes sounded from everywhere around them. 

“My father’s enemies,” she said, breathlessly, trying to cover herself from the cold with a coat she’d tossed over her nightclothes. “They come from the southern border. My ancestors took the throne from them and they have always sworn to take it back when they felt the kingdom was at its weakest.” 

They all knew—it was no coincidence that they had chosen the week she was meant to be married to a commoner. They were a tribe of men who had been driven mad with a single obsession, turned into tyrants whose attitudes toward rule matched Uther’s of old.

The four of them managed to find the knights of Camelot in the chaos—Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and Leon, who had refused to leave one another behind and were instinctively running toward their king’s chambers at the first sign of danger. Then, when just outside the city gates, they encountered three Nemethian soldiers who had likewise escaped—one of whom was Sir Rayne, who led them assertively toward a secret gate half-hidden underground. Together, the eleven of them fled into the forest, the shouts and running footsteps of their attackers close behind.

They came to a clearing where a small village slept and found themselves surrounded on nearly all sides. The elders tried to hide them quickly, but it was too late. Mithian was as protective of her people as Arthur was of his, but when she tried to give herself over to the brutes to spare the village, they responded by setting fires to every structure and slaughtering anyone who got in their way—except the knights, Arthur, and Eldom, who fought back with their blades so that the citizens could escape.

Merlin, as ever, remained at Arthur’s side throughout, but there were so many of them and they ran in all directions through the smoke, it was impossible to take them all out with magic without inadvertently hitting an innocent villager. Still, with Queen Mithian and each man showing great courage and cleverness, they managed to get every villager out unharmed…or so they believed.

It was not until they all began to run for the forest themselves, flanked by enemies attacking from each side, that Rayne shouted over the roaring fires and clanging swords.

“There are children in there!”

Merlin was the only one closest to hear him, and he turned to see the knight rushing back toward the burning village, to a home where he could just barely see three tiny hands reaching desperately through the second-story window, palms outstretched for anyone’s help. The sorcerer tried to shout to Arthur, but they were too far into the forest to hear now, the black-clad enemies still chasing them. Four of the merciless men saw Merlin standing exposed in the empty field and rushed him with swords drawn. The smoke from the spreading fire was blinding him now, making him choke and stumble, and he could hardly see where the shapes were in the blackness to fight them off.

As he fought them blindly, he looked and saw Rayne disappear into the front door of the home, leaping seemingly straight into a furnace of yellow flames.

Rayne ran across the dirt ground inside the shack and leapt up to the second floor where the ladder had already fallen and was burning into ash. He could hear the screaming and sobbing of children, and though he could not see and could scarcely breathe, he covered his mouth and nose with his cape (which he was still wearing because he had not changed out of his armor from the day) and followed the crying. A tiny hand clutched his and he grasped it a little too tightly, yanking the little thing from behind a crate where she’d hidden in terror and holding her close. Two more sets of hands clutched at him, and he dropped his sword to pick them all up in his arms as he dove through the window just before the whole structure collapsed at last. 

Rayne landed hard on his shoulder in an attempt to keep the children from hitting the ground, and his cry of pain turned into a roar of rage when a figure appeared from the smokey darkness and lunged at him and the little ones with a dagger.

One arm was broken and yet he clung to all three of the children, desperately trying to run them out of harm’s way. But there were three men now, blocking him in; without his sword Rayne had no way to fight back properly—and now the flames had reached the stacks of hay beside the hut. They were burning quickly, a wall of fire that would reach them soon. They were between two different deaths, he and the two little girls and one little boy screaming and clutching him with all their might, and as the heat from the fire began to scald him and the black figures began to enclose him, he had no other option but to drop down. He covered the children with his own body and hoped somehow both blade and flame would take only him and spare them.

In that moment, a fourth form appeared in the shifting smoke. Two eyes glowed through the black haze, as vibrant yellow as the flames themselves, and then the men were flung out of sight.

Rayne watched as Merlin ran to stand between him and the children and the enclosing fire.

_“Bael! Ic pe hate!”_

A sound like a great wind filled the place louder than the rumbling fire, and then the blinding yellow light of the flames died away into a clearness that was chilly from the cool spring air.

Rayne felt Merlin’s hands on him, helping him stand and taking one of the children from his arms. Then, suddenly, a father and mother appeared and sobbingly gathered their little ones, thanking them over and over. Rayne was dizzy as he watched them run together in one direction while Merlin dragged him in another.

He was sure they must have run across the whole of the kingdom before they finally stopped by a small stream. Rayne wanted to speak, so many questions and revelations overwhelming his mind all at once so that he couldn’t even make sense of it all…but he should be able to make sense of it…he should be able to speak…why couldn’t he speak?

Merlin was looking all around them for any enemies that might have tracked their movements, but hearing nothing but crickets and water rushing nearby, he turned back to Rayne.

The knight was looking down at his side, under his obviously broken, disfigured arm. Blood from a dagger wound turned the metal chainmail red, and the man’s ragged, broken breaths from a punctured lung filled the air as he slowly looked back up at Merlin with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

Before either of them could say anything, Rayne collapsed with a broken-off cry of pain at the impact of hitting the ground. Merlin reached him just as he felt himself go limp, the figure of the warlock moving seemingly slower than he should be, and then the knight knew nothing more.

\--------------------------------------

Far from where Merlin and Rayne had stopped, Arthur and Gwaine together cut down the last of their pursuers, leaving the night silent except for the combined heavy breaths of their group. Arthur had noticed the moment he’d turned around that there was one very important person missing from among them.

“Where’s Merlin?” he demanded, scanning the faces around him in the dark just to be sure.

But there was no mistaking it. He could _sense_ his friend’s absence in the air.

The others looked to one another helplessly, the knights of Camelot appearing most troubled, but then Eldom spoke up.

“Rayne is missing as well.”

Arthur thought in a flash of a dozen different scenarios that could have happened, and in all of them Merlin was the victim of either an obliterating fire or someone’s merciless blade. His heart, which hadn’t even started to slow from the running yet, skipped in his chest, making it even harder to catch his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Leon stepped forward, closer to their king. “I’m sure he’s fine, sire. He must have gotten separated from us in the village.”

“Rayne will know where we are going,” said Mithian calmly but with a ring of discernment for Arthur’s feelings in her tone. “There is a fortress on the other side of the valley, only a few more minute west. It is called Godwyn’s Rest, and it’s half-hidden in the side of a mountain, easily defended even with only a few men. It has been abandoned for decades but still stands strong. We will go there, and Merlin and Sir Rayne will meet us.”

Arthur only heard enough to understand her plan, his mind half-distracted debating about whether he could send them ahead and go back. But he had only a general direction and no way of knowing where Merlin might be now. For all he knew, his friend could have run the opposite way. Merlin was resourceful, and clever, and the most powerful man he knew, he reminded himself. He had always been all right before. This time should be no different. And if Mithian was correct, and Merlin and Rayne were together and knew where to go….

He forced a long, quelling breath from his still-burning lungs and readjusted his grip on the sword.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We’ll go to Godwyn’s Rest and await their arrival—and make a plan to regain control of your kingdom, your highness.”

Mithian smiled in gratitude. She took Eldom’s proffered hand and he helped her over a fallen log, and together they all followed the direction she indicated through the dark until they came to the edge of the forest. From there, the moonlight was enough to cast the outline of a great structure carved into the mountainside ahead.

Arthur stood at the top of the high hill and ensured everyone started down safely. Before he followed, he glanced back through the trees in the empty hope he might see the familiar form of his friend emerge. But there was nothing, not even the rustle of wildlife, and so he swallowed back his worry at being parted from Merlin, and hoped it would not be long before they were reunited again. Only when he was certain there was no one behind them—friend or foe—did he continue on after his company.

\--------------------------------------

It was dark when Rayne managed to force his eyes open.

He thought at first that he must surely have died in battle and been sent to eternal bliss as a reward. He rested comfortably against a grand ancient tree with branches that curled overhead in a labyrinthine array, while the roots underneath cradled him in a bed of soft green moss. A few early springtime flowers created tiny spots of pale yellow scattered about the mounds of soft earth that acted as boundaries, enclosing the small area from the black nighttime world beyond. He could hear water rushing nearby, a gentle gurgling that almost made him want to go back to sleep. A warm fire crackled in the center of the space, the best-smelling fire he’d ever known; it offered him a sense of comfort he had not experienced in many years now. 

Best of all, tending to the fire was some sort of fairy spirit. It had to be. He was pale and slender and beautiful, with hair darker than the wood he added to the flames and cheekbones that could only have been shaped by the gods themselves on one of their more poetic days. He wore clothes the quality of which Rayne had only ever seen gracing Queen Mithian—a fitted velvet shirt and matching breeches in a shade of blue so dark it was almost black, with tiny gold thread details sewn at the wrists and collar and along the front. The only reason he did not appear fully like a king was the lack of a crown or medallion. And yet with all that, there was a sense of earthly normality to him, in how his ears were just a little too big and how he prodded at the fire with the skill of one who had spent childhood winters trying to keep warm. He must surely be the exact kind of creature the gods design for fallen mortal warriors, Rayne decided, wanting nothing but to say hello and introduce himself.

Before he could, however, a flash of pain in his side woke him from his fantasy, and his gasp caused the spirit to look his way.

“It’s all right,” the spirit said assuringly.

…Merlin. _Merlin_ said.

The sorcerer set down the remainder of the wood and crouched next to him, and somehow even with reality setting in, Rayne could not be any less awed. He had thought this man to be one of the loveliest he’d ever seen, right from the beginning in the marketplace, but their stark disagreement had created a barricade against anything coming of his attraction.

Now the barricade, it seemed, was broken down.

“Your arm was easy to fix, but the wound in your side was serious,” Merlin continued, a bit quietly as though trying to calm a wild animal. “I have done what I can. You should be fully recovered by the end of today.”

“You healed me,” he said weakly (though there was pain, it was nothing like it had been before), “with magic.”

Merlin’s gaze flickered up from where he had been inspecting the cloth pressed against the wound.

“I had no choice,” he answered, not quite defensively but on the verge. “You would have bled to death.”

Rayne watched the face so close to his for another long moment, feeling gentle fingers adjusting his chainmail to get a better look. He hadn’t just been dreaming. Merlin really was exactly the kind of man he would choose for himself if he could—unassumingly beautiful but with a definite air of masculinity, intelligence, and kindness in him.

Rayne hoped that kindness somehow applied to stupid, undeserving knights.

“You didn’t just save me,” he said, still in wonderment. “You saved those children as well.”

At his soft words, the warlock paused and looked up to meet his gaze, hesitation in his posture as he tried to comprehend the knight’s meaning.

“Yes,” he answered simply, returning to his inspection of Rayne’s side.

“Thank you.”

The hands moved away at that as Merlin adjusted on the ground to look at him evenly, the obvious question clear in his eyes even as he slowly nodded his acknowledgement. Rayne wanted to answer that question, to tell him exactly why he was thanking him for using magic when he had only a few hours earlier been condemning him for it, but the knight’s own mind was reeling with newfound thoughts.

Merlin was good. Merlin had magic. _Magic was good._ It was a revelation that turned his whole existence around in the space of a moment.

“I told you it was useful,” the sorcerer said as he moved back to the fire to burn the bloody rag he’d removed from Rayne’s side.

Though Merlin’s tone indicated no accusation or anger, the reminder of their unpleasant exchange at the banquet only served to make Rayne more in awe of him for his mercy. If it had been himself, he wasn’t sure if he could have had such patience.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words slipping out as the most important thing he’d ever said.

Merlin raised his eyes then to meet his from where he’d settled a respectful distance away. His brows were raised, the unspoken question returned in his expression.

“I believed magic to be evil,” the knight continued, averting his eyes. “But the way you saved those children, even at risk to yourself—”

He trailed off, shaking his head at himself and his own blindness. What reason had he to hate Merlin before, except his own foolish ideas? How had he missed the softness behind those lovely eyes that changed so naturally to stunning gold?

He could not see it, but Merlin’s guarded expression softened at that and, for the first time since being separated from Arthur, he relaxed a bit.

“It was no more than what you did,” he responded candidly, “running into that fire to get them.”

The knight looked at him then with wide eyes. Clearly he had been expecting something different—harsher, colder perhaps—but Merlin had seen many truly evil things in his life. As much as he knew his own magic was not one of them, he could see this man was not either. No evil man looked as regretful as Rayne did now.

In fact, the expressions clouding up the brave knight’s handsome face reminded Merlin sharply of the first time Arthur also realized his attitude on magic had been wrong. In the back of the warlock’s mind there was a pang of want for his king. They had not been apart like this since he’d recovered Arthur from the Dark Tower, and though he knew his king was as safe as he could be with all his best knights, he did not like not knowing where he was or what was happening to him.

“I wish,” the knight was saying, “I could go back to the market and begin again, like you offered at the feast. I don’t know what you must think of me.”

Merlin sighed and shifted a little closer to him.

“I’m sure,” he said gently, “whatever your opinions were, you had your reasons.”

He felt this was his safest course—offer an opening without pushing for an explanation. Beyond an apology, if even that, Rayne owed him nothing.

But after a long moment of silence, he received an answer.

“I had a lover, in the town where I grew up.”

Merlin did not move or speak, seeing the shadow that had crept over the other man’s demeanor. He had enough haunted memories of his own not to recognize them in another, and he knew how hard it could be to confess them, especially to a stranger.

“His name was Terrance,” Rayne went on, reminiscence turning his voice slow and soft. “We lived right next to each other and we were together all the time. We must have climbed every tree in the forest over all the summers we spent playing. Then one summer I realized I loved him more than anyone else, and I was lucky enough that he loved me too.”

Rayne’s unconscious smile grew a bit wider as his eyes fell on Merlin again.

“He was a lot like you,” he said. “Tall and clever with a smile that could melt ice, but his hair was pale red and he always wore a blue ribbon around his wrist—for good luck, he said. I never quite understood him. We were very different men, but he was funny and kind and there was no one else in the world I would rather have spent my time with.”

Though he didn’t mean for his thoughts to roam there, Merlin could not help but think of Arthur. He wondered if the light in Rayne’s eyes looked anything like his own when he spoke similar words of his king.

“Terrance made furniture,” the knight went on, “and he sold it every few months at a grand market a few days away. My family and I were herders, so we never went into the city. I always missed Terrance in those weeks when he was gone, especially after we built our own home and moved in together. We’d only been in our house for seven months when he left for the market again, only this time when he returned, he showed me a book he’d bartered some of his chairs for.”

Merlin feared he was starting to understand where this story was going. He hoped he was wrong and was just misreading the sudden sadness that filled Rayne’s face.

“I never knew who gave it to him,” he said with somber regret. “Terrance was always fascinated by magic. He wanted to learn about it, even before it was legal to practice. I never understood that either. I was happy with how we were and I didn’t want anything to change. He thought the book of spells would make our lives better, though, so he started trying to learn. He started to…change.”

There was palpable misery in the knight’s entire posture now, and Merlin was already dreading what he would say next.

“At first, it was just small things. We would plan a picnic but he would disappear and tell me later that he forgot because he was practicing spells somewhere. Then he started doing his spells for others to see. He would bring dead animals back to life, but not like they were before. They would still be rotting, and they acted different. He brought one woman’s cat back and it clawed her arm all the way to the bone before someone was able to beat it off of her. The people started to grow scared of him, but Terrance just kept saying he’d messed up the wording and he’d get it right the next time.”

Rayne paused, swallowed, and closed his eyes for a moment. Merlin wondered if he had ever said this aloud before. (Rayne hadn’t, and that’s why his heart was pounding in his ears. To say it aloud made it all real and not just a terrible nightmare, and yet somehow he knew he’d been waiting for this exact moment to reveal his secret agony. He’d been waiting for Merlin to appear. Now that he wasn’t despising him needlessly, Rayne knew that Merlin could be trusted with this. Perhaps he was the only one who could truly understand.)

“Finally, late one night, I confronted him. I had tried many times but he’d just gotten angry and stormed away. This time was different; this time, he lost control of himself, the magic, everything. He had that evil book clutched against his chest and he kept screaming that he couldn’t let it go, that it wouldn’t let _him_ go. He summoned a windstorm. It happened so fast, there was nothing I could do. It destroyed every home in the village, killing everyone in their sleep. I had a father and three sisters. I couldn’t reach them in time.”

Merlin felt his eyes grow wet with unshed tears. Magic was a beautiful, wonderful blessing when used right, but when used wrong it could be the most horrible curse. To see the effects of it in how this noble knight trembled and pulled his legs up in an effort to make himself smaller, it broke his heart. He wanted to tell him so, but he sensed Rayne was not finished, though he was afraid of what he felt came next.

“I suppose Terrance must have realized what he’d done. By the time I got back to him, he had set the book on fire, but he was so connected to it, that it…he…a-as the book burned, so did he. I tried to stop it, but he wouldn’t let me.”

Merlin tried to imagine what that must have been like. In his mind, he saw his Arthur, consumed with a poisonous evil but still brave and pure-hearted enough to sacrifice himself. He subdued a shudder and decided he would never, ever try to envision watching Arthur burn alive ever again. Even the thought threatened to crush him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, understanding at least a fraction of what Rayne endured now.

The man looked at him then, breaking out of his reverie, and he smiled the saddest smile Merlin had ever seen.

“It wasn’t your doing,” he said, a reiteration of his earlier apology. “It wasn’t the doing of any innocent person with magic. I suppose all the rage I felt had to go somewhere, and putting it into a hatred of magic was the only choice I had. I couldn’t hate Terrance. It’s been so many years now, but I still can’t.”

“You shouldn’t,” Merlin said emphatically, moving closer to the man. “Terrance was a victim of dark magic. The fact that he was strong enough to stop it makes him a hero.”

Merlin was a little startled when Rayne looked at him like he had just handed him the world. But then, he supposed, he would feel the same if it had been Arthur and someone had told him it was all right to consider him a hero still.

“Thank you,” the knight whispered, his smile shaky and his ever-expressive eyes glittering. “You’ve helped me so much, Merlin. You’ll never know what a burden you’ve taken from me. It feels like you’ve set me free.”

Rayne’s hand settled on top of Merlin’s where he had rested it on the ground, and Merlin couldn’t help but beam. When he had revealed his magic to Arthur, his highest hopes were that his king would set _him_ free. It wasn’t until many years later that he realized he’d set Arthur free as well that day—free from the slavery of fear and hatred. And he certainly had never expected he’d still be doing the same for others, so many years later. It seemed Arthur’s acceptance of his magic would continue to create ripples of good forever.

“Although,” the knight added as an afterthought, his smile fading a little, “I’m not sure how you can forgive me. I really did behave appallingly towards you.”

Merlin chuckled and settled his other hand atop Rayne’s, squeezing tightly.

“I lived for years thinking Arthur would have me executed if he discovered my magic,” he told him. “But when the time came and he made the choice to trust me, I had no problem forgiving him. Believe me, forgiving you—it’s nothing.”

He watched Rayne sigh in relief, and they shared a moment of silent happiness as they each realized they had found a true ally. Then Merlin had an idea.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Rayne had become momentarily distracted by the fact that his hand was still wrapped warmly in both of Merlin’s, but he forced his gaze back up at the sudden inquiry.

“Starving,” he answered with a little self-conscious laugh.

Merlin grinned.

“Give me your other hand.”

Rayne didn’t have to be told twice; willingly, he let the warlock enveloped both his hands in his own and relished in the sparks it created in his chest. He watched the sorcerer’s face closely and his breath caught in amazement when those lovely eyes flashed gold at the incantation.

_“Eordbergan eac swete.”_

Merlin pulled his hands away, and Rayne would have been disappointed, except that as soon as he did the knight felt something appear in his cupped hands. He opened them, and found great, plump strawberries had multiplied in number until there were almost more than he could hold.

He exhaled in awe and grinned up at the other man, who smiled in return with a little blush at Rayne’s open excitement.

“Let me know how they taste,” he said.

Merlin watched as Rayne set the pile of them in his lap and then took a bite of the biggest one, but his anticipation diminished a bit when the knight frowned with knitted brows and inspected the remaining piece suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?” he asked regretfully.

“It tastes like,” the man paused, trying to find the right comparison, “blueberry.”

Merlin huffed frustratedly, eyeing the remaining fruits in Rayne’s lap.

“I never can get strawberries right,” he mumbled. (3)

He was startled when Rayne laughed aloud at his self-reprimand, and couldn’t help but be amused as he realized how that would sound to someone who had wanted nothing to do with magic only hours ago. Then, he was just simply shocked at Rayne’s next words, spoken with utter sincerity.

“Merlin, you are wonderful.”

He felt himself blush again, deeper than before, his cheeks hot as he dropped his head with an admittedly shy smile. He should’ve known that Rayne would be like this. It was always the ones who came across as the biggest bullies that had the best hearts.

At that thought, the warlock was reminded of the ache in his chest that called him somewhere else. He looked up at the sky and was pleased to see it getting slowly brighter as sunrise approached.

“Are you able to walk now, do you think?” he asked Rayne, who apparently did not mind the mixed-up taste of the berries, since he had consumed almost half of them now.

His question brought a solemnity to Rayne’s expression. In Merlin’s presence, the knight had almost forgotten why they were here. But the memory of his queen looking frightened as they fled her home reminded him in a sweep of his duty as a soldier of Nemeth.

“Yes,” he answered, pushing himself to rise but making sure he had the strawberries first, unwilling to waste any of them. “Let’s go. I know where they’ll be headed.”

Merlin stood as well and with a flick of his hand he put out the fire nearby. He smiled at Rayne as the knight took the lead toward Godwyn’s Rest. Together, the pair exited the peaceful clearing and moved on toward their obligations—Rayne’s to Nemeth, and Merlin’s to Arthur.

 

_**To be continued** _

\--------------------------------------

(1) Reference to The Hunter’s Heart (4x11)  
(2) The model I’m using for this character is named Broderick Hunter: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/371406300518473377/  
(3) Loose reference to The Lady of the Lake (2x09), when Merlin tries to make strawberries for Freya but it comes out a rose instead.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun’s rays were rising brighter and brighter at the horizon through the high windows of Godwyn’s Rest, as some of the knights who had fallen asleep briefly in the night began to stir. Mithian also sat up from where they had tried to make her a comfortable bed, lying on her own hastily-grabbed coat and covered in their capes. She sat with her back to the wall and gratefully accepted a cup of water from Leon, who had gone to find the well on the ground floor as soon as they’d arrived.

They worked quietly, the knights sharpening their swords on old stones and Mithian discussing with her fiancé and her men what the start of their plan might be. Arthur would have been sharing ideas with them, except he was sitting by one of the rectangular windows, watching the sun rise and wondering, as he’d been doing for the last three hours, where Merlin could be in the vast forest below.

When the first glimpse of the sun’s sphere showed itself at last, Arthur could bear it no more. Setting aside his own cup, he stood up from the wide windowsill and swiped up Excalibur from where he had placed it.

“Where are you going?” Gwaine asked, calling the attention of the others to his movements.

“I’m going to find Merlin,” he answered unwaveringly. “He should have been here by now.”

“The day has only just begun,” said Eldom in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Give it a little more time.”

“I can’t,” the king answered back, checking the sharpness of his blade (already knowing it was eternally sharpened and battle-ready, thanks to the magic it bore). “I cannot sit here any longer, not knowing what’s happened to him. He may be the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth, but that does not make him invincible. He could be injured or worse. I must go out and see if I can find him.”

Perhaps his little speech was more passionate than required, but he could not help it. Merlin had always been precious to him, but in the last couple of years he had become much more than that. He had always brought Arthur great joy and peace, but since Guinevere’s passing he’d become the one constant source of both in the king’s life. In fact, he was Arthur’s one constant source of _everything_ good. In Merlin he had placed his joy, his peace, his trust, his strength, everything. Without Merlin, he was without more than just a good friend; he was without most of himself as well.

He’d never quite thought of that before, but the realization made him even more resolved to his mission.

“Perhaps it would be best to wait a little longer, sire,” Leon pressed, with great respect but also great concern.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head before his friend had even finished speaking. “I won't leave him out there alone any more. If something has happened to him, I must get to him as soon as possible. I don’t know what I’d do if—”

He cut himself off, realizing he was revealing more than he wanted to even though perhaps it was already obvious to those around him.

The knights of Camelot, seeing his determination, were already standing with their weapons in hand.

“Then we’ll come with you,” Gwaine spoke for them all.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, however, there was a sound as of a door closing somewhere down the hall.

Eldom and the two Nemethian knights, who were closest to the large archway leading into the chamber, readied their swords and tiptoed to peer out as footsteps started to echo quietly from a distance. After a few tense heartbeats, Eldom relaxed and with a smile called out,

“It’s Merlin and Rayne!”

Arthur released a great sigh, the fearful scenarios he’d dreamed up dissipating like mist in sunlight when the two figures rounded the corner and he saw his friend’s silly grin again. Once he would have hung back awkwardly, wanting to embrace him but fearing how it might look. Now, he was at the forefront of everyone who moved to greet them, tossing his sword onto the table and using both hands to pull Merlin against him—before Gwaine could get ahold of him first.

“Where the hell have you been, you _idiot_?” he demanded, more teasing than serious, as he squeezed his more slender friend so hard the warlock gasped out a laugh in his ear.

“Oh, you know,” Merlin answered, hugging him in return, feeling that vague sense of rightness once again at being in his presence, “just taking in the forest. There are some very nice trees out there.”

Arthur rolled his eyes fondly and released him, allowing Gwaine to pry him away and hug him next (but he was sure to get in a ruffle of Merlin’s hair as Gwaine did, just for good measure). As he watched his other friends greet their lost sorcerer, he overheard Rayne speaking with his own people behind him.

“Merlin helped me rescue three children from the fire,” he was saying, excitement and wonder mixing together in his voice to turn it warm as smooth cider. “Then he healed a wound that would surely have killed me otherwise. It was incredible, my lady. _Merlin_ is incredible. He’s changed my mind about magic completely.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about the tone of Rayne’s voice. Of course he was pleased to know that the man’s view of magic had changed; Arthur was not a bearer of magic himself, but he felt a particular attachment to those who were. With every man who came to accept magic, it was a little freer to do its good work, and as the high king of Albion that’s all Arthur wanted for the people. But there was something niggling at the back of his mind about Rayne, still. He couldn’t determine exactly what it was, but he did not like it.

A few minutes later, they had all returned to their previous tasks while one of Mithian’s other knights went to fetch cool water for Merlin and Rayne. While Arthur and Leon inspected an old shield they’d found in the next room, Merlin was talking with Percival about the weapons they had and how he might improve them for battle.

When Mithian and Eldom appeared next to him where he stood over the table sharpening his own blade, Gwaine saw yet another opportunity in his personal little mission.

“Your highness,” he said, subtly, “I have heard you are a fan of gambling.”

Queen Mithian had the awareness to look vaguely affronted, though the twinkle in her eyes communicated her mirth, as well as did the little chuckle from Eldom at her side.

“Only occasionally, Sir Gwaine,” she answered with theatrical decorum. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering,” he said, “if you might have an opinion on something.”

He shifted a little closer to her and dropped his voice, lest anyone else overhear as the others passed back and forth across the room. Eldom leaned up to listen in as he murmured lowly.

“I believe Arthur is going to address a certain condition of his sometime after we return to Camelot, but do you have a different idea by chance?”

He tilted his head meaningfully, and Mithian and Eldom together took in the sight to which he gestured—though Leon was still talking at length about the shield’s integrity, Arthur’s attention was no longer on the object or on his friend. Instead, he was staring rather broodily across the room, where Rayne had moved to stand next to Merlin and was saying something into the warlock’s ear that made him laugh with bright eyes. Merlin playfully pushed the knight, and Arthur’s eyes got darker.

Gwaine was unsure whether the royal couple would recognize what he meant, but he needn’t have worried. It was becoming so obvious he didn’t even need to explain his little theory any longer. Both Mithian and Eldom turned back to him, and there was amused understanding clear in their faces.

“I would say after we recapture Nemeth,” the queen said slowly and with confidence, “but certainly before you return for Camelot.”

“I’m more with you, Sir Gwaine,” Eldom added. “I believe he’ll wait until you are back home to bring it up to your sorcerer.”

“Would you be willing to risk ten silver coins on that wager, Queen Mithian?”

The queen and prince consort-to-be looked at one another with suppressed grins, and then Mithian confirmed their bets.

“Ten silver coins it is, Sir Gwaine.” 

“Done,” the Camelot knight said with satisfaction, raising his cup of water in a mock toast.

He took a swig of it, winked at them, and then ambled over to Arthur under their entertained gazes. Leon had walked away with the shield to add it to their meager collection of weaponry, leaving the king standing in the corner with nothing to do but watch the dark and handsome Rayne flirt openly with his sorcerer.

“Did you hear?” he asked. “Sir Rayne has apparently had a change of heart about magic after spending a night with Merlin.”

Arthur glanced at him, taking a moment to decipher his words after being shaken from his contemplations. He busied himself with inspecting another weapon, an old crossbow so misshapen it wouldn’t even fit an arrow, before he answered with practiced serenity.

“So I heard.”

“I can’t help but wonder what sort of _magic_ they must have gotten up to,” Gwaine commented, seemingly distracted watching the pair across the room but actually watching Arthur in his peripheral vision, “out there, in the dark, all alone, emotions running high from their narrow escape from death. I always knew Merlin could make anyone fall for him easily if he wanted to, but it really did happen quick. Poor Rayne never stood a chance.”

He expected Arthur to have a sharp answer for him, but instead the king was silent. He looked pointedly at him and actually felt a shift in his own mood from mischief to compassion. Arthur looked utterly unhappy, realization filling his gemstone eyes as he finally understood the doe-eyed look on Rayne’s face while the knight smiled broadly at something Merlin was saying.

_Finally._

Gwaine’s triumph compelled him to push his advantage, as a myriad of unspoken objections started to form behind Arthur’s eyes.

“I’m glad for him,” the knight finished up, taking the last nonchalant sip from his cup. “It’s about time someone worthy recognized what a prize he is. I only wish it could have been me he chose, eh?”

With a parting clap to the king’s shoulder, he turned away and thought he didn’t much care whether he won or lost this bet. Either way, it was going to be wonderful to watch.

“ _Merlin_!”

The warlock was cut off mid-sentence at the abrupt, demanding summons. With an apologetic smile to Rayne, he pulled away from their pleasant conversation and obediently went to Arthur, who was frowning from over a warped crossbow.

“If you’re not too busy,” the king said, not trying to hide his disdain, “perhaps you could actually do a bit of work and help us gather weapons?”

“That’s what I was doing,” he answered back, because he _had_ been, with Percival, right before Rayne had walked up.

“Really? Because it looked to me like you were talking.”

“I was doing both,” he answered even though he was clearly only talking.

“Well, if you’re quite finished, I’d appreciate it you’d help the rest of us help Queen Mithian reclaim her kingdom, if that’s not too much to ask.”

Without waiting for a reply, Arthur shoved the crossbow into Merlin’s hands, knocking him a bit off balance, and stalked away. The warlock controlled a snicker at Arthur’s ever-dramatic crankiness and set the thing down to join them around the larger table, where someone had organized random objects around as a makeshift map.

“From what we know, the southern gate is our best chance to get inside the citadel,” Arthur said once everyone was gathered and listening. “We’ll enter here.”

He gestured with two fingers to a small stone, representing the southern gate.

“It’ll probably be guarded by at least three men, but between all of us this shouldn’t be a problem. Once we’re inside, we’ll need to separate into groups. One group of us will will need to stay with the queen at all times; if they take her, they take the throne and Nemeth will be lost. Percival and Gwaine will remain with Eldom and Mithian. A second group will head to the warning bell to stop them from alerting the castle of our presence; Elyan, Sir Owen—this will be your task.”

He pointed to a dagger positioned toward the left of the table, indicating the bell tower, and the four men nodded in understanding.

“Even without the warning bell,” Arthur continued, “it won't be long before they know we’re there. A third group will need to get to the dungeons and free all the knights who were captured and imprisoned there. The dungeons are the hardest to reach, underground and in the center of the citadel.” (He indicated the location of the cells, a cluster of ash in the dead center of the diagram.) “For this reason, Merlin, I believe you are our best chance. With the rest of us finding and and capturing their leader, we can only spare one man to accompany you. You’ll need someone who knows the castle well and can get you to the cells quickly.”

“I’ll go,” Rayne volunteered hastily.

Merlin glanced up at him, and the knight offered him a solemn but assuring half-smile, which the warlock returned with an appreciative nod.

Arthur watched their silent, warm exchange and wished he could protest, but recognized this was likely the best plan. According to Mithian, Rayne was the most skillful of the three Nemethian knights with a sword. Should Merlin’s magic fail to protect him from attack, Rayne could…and definitely would, it seemed.

“Very well,” he allowed, hoping he did not sound too sharp. “Then I suggest we gather whatever weapons we can find and make our way back to the city immediately.”

“Forgive me, Arthur,” Eldom spoke up. “Though I have been learning a lot these last few years, I still know little about warfare. But would it not be better to go at night, under the cover of darkness?”

“You make a valid point,” the king answered judiciously, “but in this situation, if Mithian’s knowledge of their tactics are correct, they’ll begin implementing their rule immediately. That means they’ll start executing your soldiers today, as a way of forcing the people to submit. They may possibly begin killing the people as well. To save as many as we can, we must strike now.”

Eldom nodded in willing concurrence, and with no more questions to be asked, the eleven of them set off to gather their weapons—all except Merlin and Arthur; Merlin never carried a weapon, and Arthur already had Excalibur at his side.

Amidst all the activity around them, Arthur really looked at his closest friend for the first time since he’d arrived. Somewhere deep in his mind, a spark of awareness started to kick in. Merlin had become so familiar to him, he often did not give his presence a second thought. What would he think if _he_ were a knight of Nemeth, meeting Merlin for the first time? That moment so many years ago, he hadn’t paid much attention except to jeer at the farm boy’s scrawniness to his friends. But now, under these circumstances, what would he think? Would he be drawn to him like Rayne was? What did Rayne see in him?

That he was attractive for one thing, no doubt. Objectively, Arthur had always been aware of Merlin’s distinct charms; he’d had to warn off a few hungry wolves behind Merlin’s back in a tavern or two in the past. Once, a mostly-drunk Gwaine had blathered some ridiculous poetry about how stupid they must all have been over the years not to have recognized the magic Merlin possessed, because it was “written in every pretty line of his face.” (Arthur had shut him up, too, because Merlin’s _pretty_ face had turned so red he was worried he might faint.) Arthur had never once been knowingly attracted to another man in his life, but he would be a liar if he pretended Merlin’s captivating smile wasn’t often enough to brighten his whole day. Would he still think that, if he were seeing it for the first time? Would he notice it even more then?

He was shocked to find he wasn’t sure. And that was to say nothing of how he would perceive Merlin’s kindness, his humor, his wisdom….

Arthur suddenly understood Rayne’s behavior a lot better than he expected.

But what did that mean about Merlin? Arthur had been so quick to ignore his friend’s nervous confession so many months before. After declaring his love quietly before a dying fire, Merlin had never mentioned it again and everything had seemingly gone back to the way it had been. That had been a great relief to the king; he did not want anything to change between them, their life together being so happy and peaceful as it was. He had easily convinced himself that the whole thing had been a delayed reaction to his disappearance; surely Merlin had regained his senses by now and realized he was not actually in love with Arthur.

Like gathering storm clouds, the first signs of doubt started to form in his gut. Maybe he should not have been so hasty to want things back to normal. Maybe he should have considered everything more fully. What would happen if Merlin really was falling for young Rayne? True love overpowers all other kinds of love, he knew. If Merlin fell in love with Rayne, the knight would rightfully become his first priority and Arthur would be pushed to second. Maybe he should have thought about what that might mean to him. Of course he was happy having Merlin share his every meal and prattle around after him all day long—who wouldn’t be?—but he had become so used to it, the thought of its changing hadn’t occurred to him. Merlin had always been so comfortable, so safe, so constant. Arthur loved that about him, and he had never imagined losing it. 

Maybe he should have questioned his own desires before rejecting the possibility of ensuring he _never did_ lose it. Maybe he should have thought about what it might mean to claim Merlin as his own in a more permanent commitment. Maybe he should have pondered more seriously about the beauty he saw in that smile, those eyes, those cheekbones.

That thought alone unnerved him a lot more than a risky siege on a captured castle, and with it came an onslaught of very significant questions.

What if he was right, and Merlin had realized he was never actually in love with him? Or what if it _had_ been real, but his rejection had urged his sorcerer to let go of his feelings? What if he was ready to move on and be with someone like Rayne? Did Arthur really care and if so, would it matter?

And most importantly, _what the hell_ had those two really done in the woods last night? If Gwaine was right, and Merlin had actually given Rayne his body, let him touch him and know him in a way far deeper than Arthur ever had….

The same emotion he’d been experiencing since seeing them talk at the feast flared up again, only this time he was shocked to recognize it as pure, selfish jealousy. He was jealous of Rayne for being able to make Merlin laugh, for being so willing to fight alongside him, for having any of the attention that was supposed to be Arthur’s. But surely that couldn’t actually mean…

He wasn’t in love with Merlin. There was no way it could be that. Merlin’s interest in another was new and strange and Arthur’s selfish thoughts were running away with him, that was all.

The sorcerer had been watching the others prepare, but now he seemed to sense Arthur’s eyes on him. He turned his head to look directly at his king, and Arthur quickly covered up any appearance of his thoughts on his face. He looked away, allowing himself to be distracted by the movements of their friends as they got ready to leave.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t come with us?” Merlin asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them for so many minutes. “There are four others seeking out the leader, and I’d prefer it if we weren’t separated.”

Arthur relished for a moment in that blatant concern before he realized how _girly_ he was being. He righted himself and pushed aside the persona of confused friend to replace it with that of the noble and sensible king.

“We have no choice,” he answered, the solemnity of their plight bringing him back to the real world. “There will no doubt be a squadron of men guarding him, and more will come once they know we’re there. I’m not even sure five of us will be enough without adequate armor and weaponry.”

Merlin looked unhappy about it, but he nodded his understanding.

At that time, everyone was gathering near them.

“Ready to go?” Mithian asked them, the glint of a true leader in her eyes. “I wish to get my kingdom back.”

None could argue, and so they departed together, Mithian and Eldom leading the way while the others followed.

\--------------------------------------

Their walk back to the city would take over an hour, and with the gurgling of the river alongside their path, Arthur was pleased to indulge in his favorite traveling game—annoying Merlin.

“I told you a hundred times, _Mer_ lin,” he was saying as he pushed a branch out of his face, “and you still forgot to pack it.”

“I did not,” the warlock answered, only half-bothered, as he followed Arthur’s footsteps through the thick underbrush. “I _did_ pack your blue shirt, and then you took it out to put in your red shirt.”

“I expected you to put it back in again!”

“Well, that’s not what you said. If you wanted it, you should’ve told me so.”

“I _did_ tell you so, Merlin—that’s my point. You never have been able to get the packing right.”

“Well, perhaps if you’d stop bothering me the whole time, I would. You make me redo it a dozen times before I’m finished, it’s no wonder things get left behind.”

“Oh, so you’re saying it’s my fault now?”

“Yes, I am!”

He glanced back just in time to see Merlin’s habitual exasperation melt away for a second to be replaced by an entertained grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. The sight made Arthur’s habitual criticism melt away as well, and when their eyes met they both stifled a chuckle. At least they always managed to entertain themselves; everyone else seemed to be indifferent to their banter.

…Well, almost everyone else.

Rayne suddenly appeared on Merlin’s other side.

“Why were you packing the king’s clothes, Merlin? I thought you were a high member of the court. Isn’t that a servant’s job?”

It was a good thing Rayne was so intent on watching Merlin’s face, because otherwise he might have noticed how _Arthur’s_ face dropped at his interruption and he covered the rolling of his eyes by turning his head away and hacking at another low-hanging branch with his sword.

“It usually is,” Merlin replied, avoiding the chopped branch now in their path. “But Arthur is really grumpy about everything getting packed properly so none of the servants will do it.”

“What Merlin means is,” Arthur spoke up, determined not to be pushed from the conversation, “ _he_ hates my manservant and won’t let him touch anything.”

“That’s not true,” Merlin shot back (even though it sort of was, to a point). “I let Jathan do plenty. He mucks out the stables and does the laundry and polishes your armor.” He turned and addressed Rayne. “I just do the fun bits—cooking and packing the clothes for trips.”

“Anything that requires being near the king,” Gwaine shouted out from behind them, and it seemed to most that he was simply adding to the conversation, but he shot a sly smirk at Mithian and Eldom.

“Jathan is a good servant,” Arthur clarified, not noticing the intent behind Gwaine’s comment, “but he acts terrified of me more often than not. Merlin, on the other hand, was a servant I couldn’t make fear me even if I’d tried.”

“And you did try,” Merlin added half-playfully.

Arthur shared his fond smile, as they both recalled those hilarity-filled early days and how they never could have predicted where their unlikely friendship could have ended up.

“You were a servant?” Rayne burst out in surprise.

The pull of Merlin’s attention annoyed Arthur only a little less this time, and he turned to kick a log out of the way and tried to ignore the knight’s presence without seeming obvious about it.

“Yeah,” Merlin smiled, unoffended since he often got this reaction from those who only knew him as he was now (even though most people knew Arthur was a unique ruler, it was not often kings were discerning enough to ignore the rules of class). “I was Arthur’s manservant for nearly ten years before he made me court sorcerer. I became _very_ good at cooking and packing, and mucking out the stables but like I said, I let Jathan do that now. It smells awful, and Arthur insists I wear these ridiculous clothes. They’re not exactly made for shoveling—-”

“Merlin,” Arthur warned, recalling they had a lady in their midst.

Merlin passed a secret look to Rayne and snickered noiselessly behind the king’s back, never detecting it when the young knight stared in even more transparent wonder and admiration at this new information.

“It’s amazing,” he said, shaking himself from his daze and catching back up to the sorcerer, this time walking a bit closer at his side. “You rose from such a low rank to such a high one in the kingdom, and with so much weight on your shoulders.”

“Not unlike you,” Merlin reminded him kindly.

Rayne acknowledged the subtle mention of his history with a thoughtful bite of his lip and nod of gratitude. The expression looked so much like Arthur for an instant that Merlin felt another rush of fondness for this pure-hearted man with a difficult past, who had soared so far above any expectations on his own strength of character.

Arthur, noting the several heartbeats of silence, turned his head to check behind him and got a direct view of the look Rayne was casting Merlin—full of a depth of feeling that mimicked Arthur’s own when he and Merlin shared a moment. That flare of jealousy burned a tiny flame in his gut again, tempered only by the despondency that Merlin was giving a similar look to the knight in return. Though he’d not always shown it, Arthur secretly enjoyed Merlin’s attentiveness of him, having grown up with a father who would rather give him an impersonal pat on the shoulder than talk about any feelings whatsoever. It bothered him to doubt, even the tiniest bit, that he was not as uniquely special to Merlin as he’d believed.

He’d never realized that about himself either, until now. Gwaine had been the only one who had ever come close to holding the same position in Merlin’s life, but even that had never intimidated him. He would not usually consider himself a greedy man, but Arthur was finding he didn’t like sharing his friend, even if it was just one little look.

He turned back around to face their path, softly kicking a hollow log into the rushing river as he did. He was so foolishly blinded by his thoughts and unfamiliar with his surroundings, he did not know how close they were to the city—and to their enemies. They had all been ready for danger to arise only once the highest castle towers came into view, and so none of them were prepared when over a dozen dark-clothed figures suddenly appeared from behind the old, broad trees.

Arthur shouted for Mithian to run, but it was too late—the troop had them surrounded on three sides with the freezing river several meters below blocking them in. Three of them grabbed the queen as the others ran, screaming a war cry, upon them all. The knights drew their weapons in an instant and metal began to clang against metal piercingly. Arthur, a little off-balance from being taken by surprise, shoved one of his assailants into the other in an attempt to knock them both away and looked to find his sorcerer. He was relieved to see Merlin’s hands raised in what he recognized as the stance for his strongest blasting spell, sure to hurl away their attackers.

His heart jumped in his chest, however, when a man some years older than the others, with a balding head and short gray beard, emerged suddenly into their circle behind Merlin. Rather than bearing a blade, this man bore a sharp rock and his small, intense eyes were fixed upon the warlock as he rushed with purpose toward him.

Arthur tried to shout his friend’s name in warning, but there was too much explosive noise from the fight. His warlock had just begun reciting his spell when the man thrashed him over the head with the stone, the blow merciless and vicious. Merlin crumpled onto the lush green grass without a sound and lay completely still.

The momentary horror that paralyzed Arthur’s whole body made it so his two attackers took the advantage. One knocked his blade from his hand and the other struck him with the hilt on the back of his neck so that his vision swam in darkness for a moment. He tried to recover himself, but by that time, they had restrained both his arms in mighty grips while a third man moved to hold a dagger close to his throat, deterring his movements.

He looked around and found his friends in similar plights. There had just been too many—nearly three times their number, it appeared—and they had been attacked so unprepared. His brave Camelot knights struggled as much as he was, but they were forced to their knees as well and could do nothing but meet his eyes in regret and dread. 

The man who had struck Merlin stepped over the sorcerer’s limp form with an eerie little smile dancing on his small, thin mouth. The other rogues stood silent and watched him with anticipation in what Arthur recognized as a dangerous godlike worship. This was their leader, and clearly he had complete, terrible control over them.

“My name is Josiah. Finally, we meet, Queen Mithian,” he said in a smooth, lullaby-like voice, raising one hand with over-exaggerated grace toward the woman.

She was struggling to twist out of her captors’ holds, and glared with all the fury of a high sovereign at the man who would take her people from her.

“Though perhaps,” the man continued, his peculiar sing-song lilt turning mockingly regretful, “I should not say ‘queen.’ As of this moment, your kingdom no longer belongs to your thieving family. It has taken many long decades, but my clan will at last reclaim our place as the rightful heirs of this land. As of this moment, I am king of Nemeth.”

“Your clan,” Mithian spat out, “lost its hold on this land because of its arrogance and cruelty and gluttony. You and your tribe have done nothing but proven yourselves to be unchanged after all these generations.”

“Ah-ah,” he tutted, waving his finger with a self-righteous superiority. “It does not matter what you think. You, my dear beautiful woman, are as good as dead now. Your line ends here, and our line restarts. You have become weak and unworthy, choosing to lower the honor of the throne by sharing it with this filthy pauper.”

He gestured to Eldom, not even sparing the man a look. If possible, Mithian’s eyes became more murderous.

“And you think you’re a more worthy king?” Arthur called out, anxious to pull the man’s deadly attention away from his friends.

Josiah turned on his heel to face him with a curious smirk that made him seem even more mad.

“Ah,” he cooed, “the great King of Camelot. Your presence here was not planned, you know. It is most unfortunate that you’ve become involved, but perhaps it’s all for the best. I have heard that your loyalty is strong, and you might have retaliated for the queen’s death. Killing you now will relieve us of that little worry.”

“If you kill me,” Arthur told him with upmost confidence, “the whole of Camelot’s army will come for you, and they will defeat you. You can be sure of that. It would be wise for you to leave, now, before you and all your men die in a fight that was over centuries ago.”

“I understand that you are undefeated in battle,” the man said, seemingly unruffled, “and if the stories are correct, that is often due to a certain advantage you possess.”

Arthur had been worried that he would lash out against Mithian or Eldom, but when he started to walk calmly back toward where Merlin lay unconscious, the king felt a rush of outright panic.

Josiah, for all his gentleness of voice, kicked Merlin onto his back with fierce brutality. The warlock did not even twitch, the slow, continual moving of his chest the only sign that he was even still alive. Arthur’s own breaths were shallow and trembling with a mix of fear and anger at seeing his friend so abused. The wicked man regarded the warlock for a moment blankly.

“For all the tales we’ve heard,” he said at last, “he is quite small, is he not? I don’t know—I expected something a little less…delicate.”

There was a ripple of mocking laughter through the animalistic men, and Josiah looked up to summon a pair who stood nearby.

“Still,” he said as they moved to obey his silent command, “the stories cannot all be made-up. If the warlock of Camelot is the king’s greatest protector, he must be the first to die.”

Arthur knew his horror showed on his face, but he could not bring himself to stop it. He tried once again to pull free of his assailants, but they held fast.

Josiah looked around, searching for a manner of execution he liked. The sound of the churning river below them was the only noise for a breathless moment, and then he smiled as his unnervingly silver eyes suddenly brightened.

“Throw him in the river,” he said. “Let the waters decide whether he freezes or drowns while they carry him far from here.”

“No!”Arthur shouted in desperate rage, as the cries of all his friends echoed around him. “ _Stop_!”

But they heeded none of the shouts, the burly outlaws dragging Merlin’s unmoving form across the damp ground.

“Please!” Rayne’s outcry was the only one as loud as Arthur’s. “Take me instead!”

“Oh, do not worry, dear child,” Josiah soothed. “Your death will come swiftly and it will be much quicker, I promise.”

Arthur roared, too desperate and enraged to form words, thrashing uselessly as they got closer to the edge of the bank. But it was not until they tossed Merlin over the side and Arthur heard the crash of his body against the icy water that a surge of strength overtook him, so powerful and unexpected that he managed to break the hold of the men on his wrists. He heard Josiah shouting in sudden, wild wrath, but before anyone could stop him, Arthur had dived over the side of the embankment and into the rushing torrent.

He could not have known it, but his shocking display of strength had momentarily distracted the other attackers, and with matching shouts, the knights of Camelot and Nemeth broke free of their own captors. In moments, they had each man on either side of them cut down—half the members of the troop that had attacked—and were advancing upon the remaining half.

As Mithian scrambled out of the way of a fleeing assailant, Josiah saw his opportunity and stepped on the end of her cloak, forcing her to he ground. He swiped up another rock from the dirt and raised it high over his head, his face void of all expression but his eyes burning with hate. He had but a moment to realize the gleaming metal blade flashing in the morning sunlight was brandished by Eldom, before it sliced straight through his heart and ended the battle for Nemeth once and for all.

In the deafening current tossing him violently, it took Arthur several heartbeats to orient himself enough to look ahead down the river. He spotted a flash of dark blue velvet over the white foam, and swam toward it, heaving for air whenever he had the chance but focused only on reaching that limp form in the water.

Later he would hardly remember any of it but as a long blur, but somehow he managed to reach Merlin and latch onto him. Holding his friend’s head above water as best he could, he fought against the flow until his feet touched shifting soil at the bottom. He did not try yet to catch his own breath as he laid Merlin out on the muddy shore, but noted immediately that while he was choking and gasping, the sorcerer was not moving at all—and this time, his chest was completely still.

Arthur fumbled to press his ear against Merlin’s unmoving chest, and perhaps it was because his own heart was pounding in his head, but he could not hear his friend’s.

Choking this time on sheer panic, he sat up and positioned his hands in the center of Merlin’s sternum.

“Come on, Merlin!” he shouted, louder than the rumbling of the river, as he pressed one, two, three times in succession. “Wake up! Merlin, you lazy idiot, _wake up_!”

He paused only long enough to press his mouth to Merlin’s, trying to ignore how his friend’s full, parted lips were already turning blue. He pushed air from his own lungs into Merlin’s, twice, and then resumed his deep pushes against his chest.

“Merlin! Wake up!” he was pleading now, not caring how frightened he sounded. “God, Merlin, please! Please, don’t—please wake up! Come on!”

He beat against the still chest again and again, interspersed with forceful breaths against his lips from his own mouth, but despite everything Merlin’s skin turned white as death while his lips went from blue to purple. As he fought to make him breathe again, dark, awful thoughts hit Arthur in waves. In a flash of transcending insanity, he remembered all the times he’d ever, jokingly or not, told Merlin to be quiet; if he could hear that familiar voice now, he’d never complain again. If this did not work, if Merlin did not wake, he would never hear his teasing or soothing or advising or shouting…he would never see his smiling or frowning or laughing…he would never watch those beautiful eyes flash gold with such great power they contained. That sent hot tears blurring his vision and a sob ripping from his own throat. He pressed his mouth against Merlin’s once more, lingering for a half-second longer than he meant before pulling away and resuming his compressions while his own muscles burned at the effort.

“Merlin, come on! Please, no…Merlin…”

He was getting lightheaded now, his vision dimming around the edges, the sound of the river filling his head until it was all he could focus on. It had been too long…Merlin had gone without air for too long…it was too late…

He heard himself sob again, his fist pounding Merlin’s chest blindly as tears choked him. A heavy, horrific, all-consuming darkness was seeping into his very soul, as though part of it were being torn away and he would be left half-empty for the rest of his days. He knew he would. With Merlin gone, half of what he was would go too.

It took him a solid five seconds to realize the soft, strangled sound was not coming from himself.

He forced his sight to clear, and the first thing he saw was Merlin’s face crumpling in confusion, his brow furrowing fiercely as his whole body jolted with the first retching coughs.

Arthur could not think or feel anything that he could ever put into words, but somehow he found use of his hands and rolled Merlin over onto his side so that he could spit up the river water more easily. It was only then that he started to realize how cold it was, how icy the water had been, but the shaking of his body was not only because of that, he knew. He had never felt so out of control of himself, but at the same time he was so overcome with relief that he did not care at all.

“It’s all right,” he repeated again and again, unthinkingly, shivering. “It’s all right, Merlin. It’s all right.”

With one hand bracing Merlin’s shoulder while the sorcerer continued to cough, Arthur’s other hand moved almost of its own volition to the river-soaked dark hair. He stroked it calmingly, brushing his fingertips over the familiar curve of the ear and tangling his hand in soft, dripping locks, feeling the lump from Josiah’s attack forming. As Merlin’s coughs finally began to subside, Arthur rubbed at his arm and over his shoulder and along his back, his own heartbeat slowing while he kept trembling violently where he was crouched.

After what felt like hours, he saw Merlin’s long lashes flutter and his eyes finally opened. The warlock slowly pushed against the ground and sat up, turning to face Arthur with a dazed expression.

“Wh-what happened?”

“They struck your head,” he started, stammering ineloquently, “a-and—”

The king would have continued—he wanted to—but hearing that voice, even unrecognizably ragged from the coughing, had made tears fill his eyes once again. He couldn’t speak anymore about what could have been, but could only reach forward and pull his friend against him, careful not to hold too tightly as Merlin was still catching his breath, but burying his face in the chilled skin of his friend’s neck.

Whether by choice or because he was still too dizzy, the sorcerer did not move. He stayed still and pliant as Arthur held him for several long minutes, rocking him unconsciously until they were both breathing normally again. Arthur’s hands stroked up and down Merlin’s back, following the protruding bumps of his spine through the wet and ruined formal shirt, in truth just enjoying the feel of the slender, warming body in his arms. The king’s mind was nearly blank, except for one thought: he had never been more content in his life. Even with the cold suffusing him, he would have been satisfied with never moving again, with keeping Merlin nestled in his lap and letting the sun warm them while the fresh, crisp air refreshed them. In that moment, he cared about nothing else.

Finally, Merlin shifted against him, his hands moving steadily up Arthur’s sides until they tightened on his ribs and pushed gently, a sign that he was recovered and could sit on his own. Arthur’s only response was to tighten his own hold, refusing to let go.

“Are you sure it was me they hit?” came the gently joking question, Arthur’s odd behavior, though not unwelcome, certainly unnerving Merlin. 

A second later when the warlock tried to move his head back a bit, he felt the spike of pain in the top of his skull. He winced with a tiny “ow” and dropped his chin back down onto Arthur’s shoulder, blinking the dizziness from his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said a bit tightly, raising one hand to rub at the growing lump, “definitely me.”

Arthur laughed, only a mirthful breath tickling Merlin’s hair. With a bracing inhale, the king pulled back just enough to plant a dauntless, prolonged kiss against Merlin’s temple.

Merlin, who could not remember anything and was still reeling quite a bit, almost believed he’d imagined the kiss. But when Arthur finally pulled away only to press his forehead solidly against Merlin’s, the sorcerer knew he had not. He could only close his eyes and take in this perfectly intimate moment between them, knowing how rare and precious it was, and how it was the closest he would ever come to the intimacy he truly desired with Arthur.

It was only after a few seconds, however, that they heard the first distant echo of a man’s shout. Arthur and Merlin looked up then, both a little tiredly, and a moment later Leon appeared over the hill on the opposite side of the river.

“Arthur!” he shouted, waving, his voice small over the water’s noise. “Merlin!”

Others began to appear after him, each one bearing a smile of joy at seeing them. Merlin and Arthur counted eleven overall, and not one of them appeared injured and all bore triumphant grins. The king sighed in relief, still not having released Merlin fully, one hand still wrapped around his upper arm.

There was a small path over the water made of a fallen tree and some jagged stones just a short ways down, and hastily all the others crossed to get to them. Arthur, yet flying on a joyful high at having Merlin alive, did not even mind that Rayne was the first to reach them or that he pulled Merlin into a tight, relieved embrace.

Arthur took Percival’s offered hand to help him stand.

“What of Josiah and his men?” he asked, regaining his kingly composure quickly at the sight of their eager faces.

“Dead,” Leon answered quickly and proudly, “or fleeing. Eldom finished Josiah himself, sire.”

Arthur looked to see the groom’s face, and recognized that maturity that only comes with a man’s first righteous kill—calm, confident, with just a hint of regret that it had come to such a measure.

“He would have destroyed the love of my life,” Eldom said, his voice low and unapologetic, as he shifted a little closer to Mithian next to him.

Without intending it, Arthur thought in a flash of Josiah’s sickeningly pleased face as Merlin was being tossed into the water, and he nodded in understanding. Eldom nodded too, perhaps in gratitude for the affirmation of his actions.

Rayne was just helping Merlin stand. The warlock, rubbing his head flinchingly and trying to regain his ever-tedious balance, clung to the knight’s arm. Rayne held him steady with one hand and tore off his own cape with the other, wrapping it snugly around Merlin’s shoulders as he began to shiver from the chill. Arthur watched as the sorcerer smiled at the knight, and he could not find it in himself to be jealous. Merlin was alive, and for now that was enough to make him happy.

Sensing eyes on him, Merlin looked up and smiled tiredly at his king.

Arthur smiled in return, openly and without concealment of his tenderness. Planting his hand solidly on the trembling shoulder not tucked against Rayne’s chest, he addressed the others.

“We will take back anything identifying Josiah, and as many of their weapons and clothing as we can. This will show the others in the castle that their leader has fallen, and I guarantee they will surrender.”

He reached out one hand toward Mithian, and she took it with a smile at him.

“Your kingdom is your own again, your highness,” he told her, knowing from his own experiences how wonderful it was to know that.

She smiled in tearful joy, and only released his hand when Eldom tugged her around to kiss her. For a moment, it was clear neither bride nor husband-to-be were thinking or caring about anyone else in the world besides one another.

Only a few minutes later, the sun dissipated the last of the morning mist as they came within sight of the castle towers.

\---------------------------------------

Just as Arthur had predicted, the citadel was returned to them immediately by Josiah’s remaining men as soon as they realized they were without a leader. Still, it had taken several hours to round them all up, assisted by the freed knights of Nemeth from the dungeons (none of whom, miraculously, had been harmed by Josiah’s men). By the time all was said and done, it was past nightfall. While Arthur spoke with Mithian about what she and Eldom should do with the captured criminals, Merlin and Rayne met by the windows of the throne room.

“Thank you for your help,” Merlin said to him.

Rayne gave him an ironic smile and looked away, outside into the night, where the people of the town were lighting their fireplaces again and relishing in the reestablished safety of their homes.

“It is I who should be thanking you,” the knight returned.

Merlin looked out with him, pleased that despite the coldness of the day, the air somehow seemed warmer now. Perhaps spring was finally choosing to settle over the land.

“Merlin, I do have one question.”

He cast him an inquisitive glance.

“Do you think,” Rayne said, carefully, “that _I_ could learn some magic? I know I’ll never reach your power, but perhaps it could help in times like this when I need to protect others—like you helped those children in the fire. Do you think it’s possible, that I might be able to do it?”

To know the hostility with which Rayne had treated him only a day ago compared to such a request warmed Merlin’s heart for this man once again.

“Magic usually takes many years of practice even for those with the greatest talent,” he answered, and finished hastily when the young man appeared crestfallen, “but you should be able to learn at least a little, even with no talent for it.”

“I’d like to know where to begin,” he said with controlled fervor. 

Merlin glanced over to Arthur and considered for a moment.

“Tomorrow is the wedding ceremony,” he said, “and then we leave for Camelot the next morning. I’m normally with Arthur in the evenings, but I’ll see if I can arrange to be in my chambers tonight instead. If you’d like to come by, I’d be happy to show you a few spells you could start out learning.”

Though he knew it probably did not show on his face, Rayne was at first startled and then delighted at such a suggestion. He had known since waking up in that glen that he was swiftly gaining the strongest of feelings for Merlin. Now, the the leap of his heart was a sure sign of his falling for this fascinating sorcerer, whose eyes sparkled with the love of adventure and his voice held such welcoming peace. Rayne respected Merlin far too much to expect anything would happen between them tonight, but just the thought of sitting in his chambers where they could talk alone in candlelight made him feel nervous as an ungainly boy again. He was not naive enough to presume such a beautiful, clever, kind creature like Merlin had no lovers back home, but he had not heard mention of anyone important. Perhaps that meant there was hope for him. Perhaps Merlin could see past his brutish exterior and…maybe….

“I will,” he found himself breathing out.

Merlin nodded his agreement, distracted by a child running from one house to another in the street far below. Rayne watched his profile in the silvery moonlight and hoped someday he might be permitted to put his hand around the back of Merlin’s neck and pull him in for an embrace.

\---------------------------------------------

Merlin remained at Arthur’s side for the rest of the evening as they settled up their plans for the next day with Mithian and Eldom. He walked back to his rooms with him but remained close to the door as Arthur started to remove his clothes in preparation for a bath, which he’d asked one of the servants to fill. Merlin helped him remove his shirt, but decided to make his request before Arthur had removed his breeches—there was no sense in torturing himself needlessly.

“Arthur, you are going to bed after this, right?”

The king gave him an odd look.

“Why?” he asked suspiciously. “Have you got somewhere else to be?”

“Rayne asked me if I would teach him some magic—or try to, at least. And since we’re going to be so busy tomorrow, what with the wedding ceremony and the feast, I wanted to know if it’d be all right for me to teach him tonight. I asked him to meet me in my chambers.”

Arthur turned away in the guise of setting his dirty shirt aside, but really moved to cover his expression. The jealousy that had vanished earlier after the river incident was back again, full-force. He thought of what Gwaine had said before, about what the two of them might have done in the forest last night, and of the lovelorn looks Rayne had kept casting Merlin that whole day. This time, however, it was even worse, because Merlin was choosing to take time away from him to spend _teaching Rayne magic_ , if that’s what they were pretending to call it. 

No, he stopped himself—Merlin never lied to him anymore. He believed that what all his heart. He had no doubt Merlin really was going to try to teach Rayne magic. It was Rayne’s intentions he didn’t trust.

But what right did he have to protest? None, he knew. He’d given up all his say when he’d rejected Merlin’s love months ago.

“There’s no need for you to ask my permission, Merlin,” he answered, carefully blocking the hurt and disappointment from his voice. “You aren’t obligated to be here. If you wish to be with Rayne, then you should.”

He felt Merlin pause for just a moment behind him.

“Are you sure?”

Arthur turned back around to face him.

“As you said,” he answered, his voice definitely under control now even if his heart was not, “I’ll just be going to bed after I have a bath. I’m sure I can manage. I’m not completely incapable, you know.”

Merlin smiled and shook his head fondly (and Arthur wasn’t sure whether to be warmed or insulted by that). 

“All right, thanks. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

But Merlin was already gone, flittering out the door which he—as usual—slammed a little too hard, anxious no doubt to get back to his handsome knight.

In the ensuing silence, Arthur unconsciously bit on his lower lip as he stared into the still water of his bath, wondering how long it would be before it got cold without Merlin there to magic heat back into it. His warlock had been doing that for so long, he found he wasn’t even sure. He was only thankful that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore after this. The day after tomorrow they would be leaving Nemeth far behind them and returning to their own perfect little life in Camelot.

As he climbed into the round copper tub, he tried to ignore the notion forming in the back of his mind, but it stubbornly persisted—he didn’t know what the coming weeks would bring, whether his possessive thoughts and feelings for Merlin would continue or if they were only temporary abnormalities. If they were, and they disappeared after they returned to Camelot, that would be one thing…but if his strange thoughts about Merlin remained…

He was disappointed to learn that it was only a matter of minutes before the steam from the water started to fade.

\-------------------------------------------

Merlin had only just finished his own quick bath and slid on soft nightclothes when there was a swift, too-loud knock on his guest chamber door. Still using the fine linen towel to ruffle his hair dry, he opened the door and greeted Rayne with a smile. Merlin always thought Arthur looked much more appealing in his ordinary clothes, and the same was true for Rayne. The deep red tunic suited his handsome dark skin much better than the silver and green of Nemeth’s armor. It settled well over his broad shoulders, and like Arthur usually wore his, the laces were loosened at the top. Merlin thought Rayne looked as much like a royal as any he’d ever seen, and he had the gentle and discerning eyes for it as well. Nemeth was lucky to have him.

“Come in,” he said, pushing the door further open with his foot as he finished drying his hair.

Rayne stepped into the room, surprised at the light and soothing scent that drifted in the air. It smelled something like the perfumes on the wrists of noblewomen when he’d kissed their hands in honor, but not quite as strong as that.

“What’s that smell?”

Merlin draped the towel over the changing screen in the corner, aware that his hair probably looked a proper mess now (he should’ve cut it before they’d come but he’d been too busy). But Rayne, despite his somewhat stiff, distant nature, made him feel relaxed and unworried about how he appeared.

“It’s a potion I made,” he answered, gesturing to the small oil burner on the table. “It’s mint and lemon, with an enchantment to help the mind relax. I thought we could both use it after the last couple of days.”

Though Merlin could not know it, even this little gesture impressed Rayne, and when the warlock reappeared from around the corner with his thick dark hair fluffed into smooth waves, the knight swallowed half out of nervousness and half out of desire.

“I thought we could start with a small spell,” the sorcerer continued, settling at the small table and pushing the oil burner to the side.

Rayne sat across from him and sat straight with his full attention on the other man.

“I am all yours,” he said (and meant it more than Merlin realized).

The sorcerer set a small coin on the table in between them as well as an open book with beautiful scrawling words and painted figures decorating the page to which he pointed.

“It’s this line here,” he said. “Read it and try to focus as much as you can.”

“Focus on the coin?” Rayne asked, feeling a little foolish for not understanding.

“Not exactly,” he replied without any sign that Rayne had said anything wrong. “You will be concentrating on the coin to try to move it, of course, but it’s not about the coin. It’s about finding the power that’s inside you, reaching for it, and having it obey your will.”

“And…how do I do that?” he asked, admittedly skeptical of himself and any power that may or may not ( _probably_ did not) exist inside him.

He’d been in awe of Merlin since the fire, but sitting here, like this, Rayne felt like he was in the presence of the moon or the stars—like Merlin was some sort of cosmic creature only temporarily in the form of a man and he could never hope to reach his level. It put him back to when he’d first woken up and seen the sorcerer leaning over the fire. And yet, at the same time, he once again did not doubt Merlin’s humanity; it was in the crooked smile that formed at his doubt and the calloused hands that took one of his own and lifted it, palm facing down, above the coin.

“Just try,” he said cryptically. “Trust me.”

Rayne found that he did, absolutely.

Still, with a self-doubting shrug he hoped was not offensive, he leaned forward to read the words and just hoped he was pronouncing them correctly.

“ _Obrinde, cume mec_.”

He was prepared for the chagrin when nothing happened, but it still made his face feel a bit warm under the scrutiny of the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth.

“It’s all right,” Merlin told him with the sweetest smile. “Nobody ever gets it on the first try. It might even take weeks or months.”

“Wonderful,” he said dryly, dropping his hand and feeling tempted to give up but knowing he was too stubborn.

One of Merlin’s hands rested upon his other arm on the tabletop, squeezing reassuringly.

“We’re just seeing how far you can get tonight,” he reminded him. “I’m not really expecting you to be able to move the coin; this is only your first time practicing. I just want you to start reaching for the magic in you. It’s there. You just have to wake it up and learn to control it.”

“How can you be sure it’s there?” he asked. “I’ve never felt any magic in me. Surely it’s something rare and only for special people, like you, and Terrance.”

“Magic is everywhere,” Merlin answered softly, assuringly. “It holds the entire world together. It’s in everything and everyone. It’s not a matter of whether it’s there; it’s just whether your mind is capable of reaching it and using it.”

“Surely it takes a great mind to accomplish such a feat. I’m not sure my mind is, well, good enough.”

“Oh, no,” Merlin assured him with some amusement in his eyes at the man’s frankness, “it’s nothing to do with that. Trust me. Many strong-minded people have tried and not been able to do it. Even Arthur tried.”

“Arthur did?” Rayne asked in surprise, unable to envision the dynamic king sitting still long enough to practice every day for months.

“Yeah, it didn’t last very long though,” Merlin smiled in fond remembrance. “He didn’t really have the patience for it—plus, as he said, that’s why he has me. He doesn’t really have a reason to learn as long as I’m around, I guess.”

Rayne hadn’t lied about wanting to learn magic; now that he was free of his previous wrong ideas, the thought of submerging himself in the craft was a tantalizingly attractive one. He was determined to learn all that he could in the hopes that he might develop some skill. But that could wait until tomorrow; for now, he was more thrilled simply to sit and keep talking.

“Is it true, then?” he asked. 

Merlin gave him a questioning look as he shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair.

“They say you’ve saved the king’s life more times than the number of trees in a forest.”

Merlin looked at first surprised and then embarrassed, his cheeks flushing pink in the candlelight and his eyes darting down while he smiled. The very sight of his sweet self-consciousness made Rayne want to cup his face in one hand and kiss him soundly. He restrained his desires, of course, but longed for a time when he might act upon them.

“I don’t think it was quite that much,” Merlin was saying; then, as an afterthought, “although there were a few battles that might have gone a bit differently if I wasn’t there.”

Rayne had the feeling he was making a joke to himself and that “a bit” was a fantastic understatement.

“Why did you do it, Merlin?” he found himself asking, truly awed. “Why would you put yourself at such risk?”

Merlin’s eyes had lightened with some old fond memories, and when he spoke again it was with a soft reverence underlying his tone.

“Even back then,” he answered honestly, “I believed in the world Arthur could create if he had the chance. I was happy to dedicate my life to that hope, and you can see now that I was right, can’t you? It was worth it.”

“Yes, of course. All the realms are flourishing thanks to Arthur. They say it was you who turned his heart into something so good.”

He watched as Merlin blushed again, though this time the smile on his pink lips was small and soft.

“Arthur’s heart was already good,” he said in a low voice. “I had nothing to do with that. I may have…helped it along, a little.”

Again, Rayne had the suspicion there was a lot more behind those words, “a little,” than Merlin was sharing. He would certainly have to be a fool not to recognize the extent to which Arthur depended on his sorcerer. Everyone spoke about it with the upmost regard, and he had seen how the king kept close watch over his friend after the near-tragedy by the river.

Merlin seemed to shake himself from some little reverie, and he smiled.

“Arthur is…special,” he said, plainly but reverently. “He was born to unite Albion and bring peace. I was born to help, that’s all.”

Merlin knew that Rayne would not recognize the note of sadness in that last sentence.

In fact, the knight could not help but continue to be impressed. Merlin was undoubtedly the most powerful man he had ever met; he had every right and reason to hold himself above others, and yet he still seemed to imagine himself as that serving boy he apparently once had been. It was truly a miracle that no sensible man or woman had swept him up yet.

He realized the moment was over when Merlin rose from the table to fetch the pitcher from across the room.

“If you keep practicing,” he said, “you could help your queen in the same way.”

Rayne took that as his signal to resume, the little talk inspiring him. With Merlin’s back turned as he poured himself a cup of water, he felt much less nervous, and so he raised his hand again above the coin. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly and tried to do as Merlin had suggested, concentrating not on the task, but on the feelings settling softly inside of him, deep down in his soul. They were peaceful and pure, full of hope and light, and he tried to ignore the firelight flickering on the other side of his eyelids and touch those feelings somehow.

“ _Obrinde, cume mec_.”

The spell slipped past his lips almost without his realizing. Then, alarm overtook his senses as he experienced a sensation that was new and all-consuming. Though he had not opened his eyes, he knew the coin had lifted off the table. He could _feel_ it.

He caught his own breath before he could gasp, wrenching his hand back. The coin, which he saw for an instant floating a little above the tabletop, dropped and rolled off the edge with a metallic clang on the floor.

Merlin turned to see Rayne’s expression, and set down his cup on the side table, his small thirst forgotten. He bent down and saw the coin on the floor by Rayne’s chair, and looked up to see the man’s expression had not changed, those blinking dark eyes trained on him for his response.

“Did _you_ do that?” the warlock asked, and then realized how stupid he sounded.

Of course Rayne had moved it; there was no other way it could have fallen. The question was _how_?

“I…uh…”

The knight seemed to recover himself and shoved his chair back, the legs scraping the floor noisily. He leant over so that he could put his hand above the coin once again, this time higher above it.

“ _Obrinde, cume mec_.”

Merlin watched as the brown of those intense eyes was swallowed by glowing gold, and then the coin rose. This time, Rayne was prepared for the odd feeling, and he held the coin as it was, dangling halfway between his palm and the floor by nothing but the magic he suddenly felt inside him. Speechless, he looked to Merlin once again, and when he saw the dumb, open-mouthed look on the sorcerer’s face, he couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief at what he himself had done.

Merlin looked from the coin to Rayne, and he couldn’t find his own voice either. Usually anyone with talent enough to make it work the first time had known for a while they were magical. This man had done nothing but doubt himself, and yet the coin floated easily and Rayne looked nothing less than overjoyed.

“You did it!” he couldn’t help but exclaim, the realization striking him at last.

Rayne simply laughed again, still not having processed it himself. He lifted his hand a little more and fumbling only slightly when the coin traveled the rest of the way and hit his palm. He closed his fingers around it and stood up, wanting to celebrate but not knowing what was appropriate. Turns out, he didn’t have to guess, because Merlin took the two steps toward him and welcomed his automatic embrace.

The two of them hugged tightly for a moment, both laughing happily at his unexpected triumph. When Merlin pulled away, Rayne knew one thing for certain: he was going to spend the rest of his life studying magic.

“There are plenty of other spells here,” Merlin was saying, excitedly. “I’ll copy them all for you and you can keep practicing until I send you a few other books.” The warlock shook his head in wonder, as his hands tightened on the knight’s forearms. “Rayne, that was amazing!”

The knight watched the other man’s face, how the nearby candlelight danced in the jut of one cheekbone and his eyes sparkled like moonlight on a lake. And in that moment, Rayne knew one more thing for certain. As sure as when he’d been fifteen and looking at Terrance in the moonlight back home, he was falling in love with Merlin.

He did not want to say goodbye on the day after tomorrow.

\------------------------------------------------

It had taken Arthur much longer to get dressed for bed than usual, what with needing to curl up under a couple of blankets to get warm after his bath had turned cold much, much too quickly. The fire, likewise, had begun dying much earlier than it seemed to when Merlin was around, leaving the chambers uncomfortably chilly. He’d finally put on his nightclothes, after firmly telling himself that he’d faced a lot worse than a cold bedroom and he needed to stop being such coward and take off the blankets so he wasn’t sleeping naked in another monarch’s guest chambers. Then he’d had to stoke the fire back to life, and by that time he’d needed a bit of wine to relax again, which he’d had to wait on for quite a while because there were very few servants working.

All of that meant that he was only just rising to go to bed when there was a swift, quiet knock at his door. Against his own will, his first hope was that it was Merlin, come to tell him Sir Rayne had made some wildly inappropriate gesture to try and seduce him and that he needed Arthur to duel the man to protect his honor. And despite the fact that Merlin had abandoned him to a silent, freezing bedroom alone, Arthur would do it. Of course he would.

Naturally, it would be Rayne who entered at his call—not come to duel him for Merlin’s hand, apparently, by the way he shuffled with nervous energy in the doorway.

“Ah,” he said, glad it was so ridiculously late so he could use that as an excuse if he sounded unenthused, “Sir Rayne. What can I do for you? I thought you were with Merlin.”

“I was, your highness. I only left a moment ago. I am sorry to disturb you. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be awake, so I tried to knock quietly. There is something, my lord, that I wanted to talk to you about and I found I could not wait another second without trying.”

His words were fumbling but slow, as though he were choosing every one carefully, like it was of the upmost importance.

“What is it?” he asked.

While Rayne came in the rest of the way and shut the door behind himself, Arthur walked over the to the side table and busied himself by pouring a cup of the remaining wine. He found he truly was tired now, the excitement of the day wearing off at last, leaving him ready to curl up in the dying candlelight of the room. But what Rayne said next sent a spark of energy through him, reawakening his attention.

“Before I brought it up to my queen, I wanted to ask you first. With your permission, I would like to return with you to Camelot and become a knight in your army.”

Arthur was glad he had not yet turned back around to face him, as he was sure the tightening of his mouth would have given away his uneasy surprise at such a request.

“Oh?” he asked after a few silent seconds, finally steeling himself to turn around again. “And might I ask why?”

The slow, sweet smile that formed on the younger man’s face matched the soft, faraway look in his eyes in a way that made Arthur’s fears rise uncomfortably in his chest. He had just earlier been relishing in the thought of returning to normalcy, and now….

“Merlin, my lord,” came the dreaded, confident response. “He is…well, to be completely honest, sire, he is wonderful. He has such great kindness, mercy, and strength—beyond any man I’ve ever known. He is more special than words can say. But I’m sure you know all that already, or you wouldn’t have made him your court sorcerer.”

Arthur _did_ know all those things, and he wished he could tell him exactly how much more he knew about Merlin, more than anyone _else_ could hope to know. He wished he could, but in truth he doubted it all now. What right did he have to assume he would always be the most intimate person in Merlin’s life? What right did he have to get annoyed that Rayne had seen what he’d seen for years now, and was bold and courageous enough to act where he himself had apparently failed?

“In only two days,” the knight was saying, with all the pure-hearted optimism of a good man falling in love, “he has changed my whole perspective on life. He has given me hope for the future and restored my faith in the world. Now all I want is to know him better. If he should say yes, it would be my honor to court him.”

“Court him?” Arthur couldn’t stop himself from repeating, startled at hearing such a phrase associated with Merlin of all people.

“Yes, sire,” answered Rayne, oblivious to the king’s reaction, “if he would have me.”

Arthur thought back in an instant to Merlin’s confession so many months before. Knowing Rayne knew nothing of any of that, he asked his next question cautiously, shielding the dread from his voice even as it suffused his heart.

“And you believe he will?”

There it was again, that tender smile he’d seen often enough on the faces of his knights when they knew they had the chance at the heart of some sweet young maiden.

“I believe so,” Rayne said, his tone low and warm and full of ambition. “I believe he could feel as I do. I can only try my best and hope he’ll accept me. But he speaks so highly of you; it would make me feel much better if I could tell him you approve of me.”

In a flash, Arthur imagined what it would be like to watch Merlin enter a gathering on the arm of this man, or glimpse them stealing a kiss across the fire on a hunt. He imagined saying goodnight to Merlin out in the corridor, knowing his friend was going back to share his evening—and his bed—with another. He imagined a lot of different scenarios, each one crossing his mind in an instant, each one leaving him feeling as cold as when the fire had been dying earlier. Merlin deserved all the love a person like Rayne had to give him. It could have been Arthur; all this time, it _should_ have been him, and yet he’d been too stupid to realize it. And now Merlin had apparently made this other man feel welcomed enough to do it for him, to take up where he’d failed him.

What right would he have to try to stop it now? What right would he have to tell Rayne no, to deny him the chance to show Merlin the love he deserved when Arthur as still so ridiculously, stupidly, infuriatingly unsure of himself? How would that be fair for either of them?

“My lord?”

He realized then he’d been quiet for too long, and shook himself without revealing any of his thoughts on his face.

“If Queen Mithian is willing to spare you,” he said, wishing he could in good conscience refuse, “and if Merlin agrees, then I would be happy to have you with us.”

The light that spread across the younger man’s face was brighter than any of the slowly-dying candles in the room. He could practically see the excitement stealing Rayne’s breath and quickening his heart, and the knight barely remembered to bow as he backed up to depart.

“Thank you, sire,” he said with greatest respect. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I shall ask him first thing tomorrow.”

Arthur could only nod, swallowing tightly. He made certain the door was closed securely behind Rayne, and stood in the quiet for a long moment before finally moving to the bed. He turned over several times before finally making himself comfortable on his side with the pillow balled up under his head. He was not sure how long he spent staring blindly at the wall like that, before the candles all went out at last and he slipped away into a restless sleep.

 

_**To be continued** _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I mentioned that this is supposed to be along the theme of a season finale, but with extra Merthur stuff added? Well, this is the extra Merthur stuff. x) Take note of the rating of this story—this chapter is why. It’s basically nothing but a tiny touch of angst, a good bit of (descriptive) porn, and a lot of unnecessary fluff. Hope you enjoy! x)  
> (Also note that I changed the total number of chapters of this story from 3 to 4, so there's one last part coming up after this, but it's just an epilogue so it's not nearly as long. Just wanted to let you know so you could look out for that. <3)

Merlin had just finished getting dressed the next morning rather close to midday. After all the stress and excitement, everyone in the castle had slept late and the marriage ceremony had been scheduled for the early afternoon. Merlin himself felt rested, refreshed, and more than thrilled about finally seeing the wedding he’d been anticipating for weeks. He had risen and dressed earlier than necessary, with the intention of going to help Arthur get ready. He’d instructed the servants not to bother bringing him any breakfast, as he would just swipe some of the king’s instead; it was surprising, then, to hear a knock on his door just as he was about to leave.

When he opened it, he found Rayne looking regal in his formal armor, the polished metal gleaming silvery and the deep green cape reaching almost to the backs of his ankles.

“Oh, hello,” the warlock grinned in greeting, as he opened the door further for him to enter. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

He closed the door and turned to find the other man looking rather obviously at his ill-fitting formal clothes.

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckled self-consciously, tugging at the vest which was gaping slightly off his chest. “They’re a bit big, but it was the best I could get on such short notice. They belong to one of the courtiers.”

“Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, use a spell to make them fit better?”

“Well, yeah,” he acknowledged, “but between you and me, I sort of prefer them this way. I hate tighter clothes. They’re hard to move in, and then I get all hot and sweaty. This is just way more comfortable.”

“You’d never do for a knight,” Rayne smiled.

“No,” he laughed. “I’ve worn armor a couple of times now. I don’t fancy it. I’ll leave that to noble warriors like you and Arthur.”

Rayne flashed him a half-smile and gestured to his borrowed emerald-green-and-gold formalwear.

“Well, you look very nice, Merlin.”

There was something about the way he said that, just a little underlying nervousness in his tone, that made Merlin suddenly notice he hadn’t yet looked him in the eye.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged the compliment in half-distraction. “So do you. Is everything all right?”

“Actually, Merlin,”—and there it was, the nervousness increasing so that the knight shuffled back and forth on his feet where he stood—“there was something I wanted to ask. I wish for your approval…well, no, not so much your approval exactly. I just want to make sure that you want the same thing I do, before I do anything more. It’s a matter of honor, you see, and not just my honor as a knight but as a person. I only wish to go about this in a manner that will give you the most assurance that I respect and admire you greatly. I never want you to doubt that.”

The words trailing off, Rayne stopped himself cold, obviously at a loss as to what it was he’d started out trying to say. Merlin had been trying his best to follow but he’d gotten lost somewhere around “honor.” With a blink he realized there was no comprehending it all.

“Sorry,” he said with a smile that was part fond and part teasing, “but I’m not completely sure what you’re talking about.”

His little joke had a greater effect than he’d intended; Rayne met his eyes and smiled genuinely, his shoulders relaxing.

“Right,” he said, speaking much more slowly and calmly, “sorry. I wanted to ask you, Merlin, for…your permission, I suppose.”

“My permission? To what, practice magic? Rayne, you don’t need my permission to do that—”

“No, Merlin,” the knight interrupted gently, “permission to…escort you to the wedding ceremony. And to the banquet afterward, and then…back to Camelot.”

Even though Rayne was being much clearer now, it still took Merlin too long to comprehend what he meant. He scrambled for a different interpretation, one that _wasn’t_ Rayne asking with great courtesy to _woo_ him, but none became obvious after several heartbeats. No, there was definitely only one thing Rayne could mean by that, and—

“Before you say anything,” the man was saying hastily, with the most genuine earnestness, “I realize you’ve only known me for two days, and I’m sure there are plenty of people back in Camelot who would make worthy partners.”—He chuckled as a flush colored his cheeks.—“I don’t even know if you’re interested in men at all, but if you are, if there’s the slightest chance you could see yourself happy with a man like me, I wish only for the chance to prove myself to you. I know I can come across as a narrow-minded boar, but I can be more than that. If you give me a chance, I feel I could be good for you, because my feelings are upright, I swear. I want only what’s best for you and if you think it could be me, nothing would make me happier than to try.”

After having no breath during Rayne’s entire beautiful speech, Merlin finally shook himself and arranged his scattered thoughts and emotions. It was not the first time someone, man or woman, had taken notice of him, but it was certainly the first time anyone had made such a heartfelt and devoted proposition. It threw him much harder than any of the others had before.

A flash of guilt overcame him for an instant as he recalled all the times in the last day when he might have misled Rayne accidentally. There had certainly been moments when he had been drawn to the man, to his bravery, his virtuousness, his striking eyes and his full lips. But it had all been in passing; the idea that Rayne had discerned his little whims hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Perhaps he had, though, even if Merlin had not intended to give him such an impression. Perhaps he had noted Merlin’s fondness of him and interpreted it wrongly. That only brought more guilt, however. He certainly admired many things about Rayne, even after so short a time, but there was another reason for any outright attraction he might have felt. Rayne reminded Merlin of Arthur. With his heroically handsome demeanor and his honest nature and his pureness of heart, he was exactly the kind of man Merlin could easily love…because he was so much like the one he loved already.

But that was not important now. No matter how it had happened or if he was to blame, he would have to tell the truth now in the gentlest way he could.

“Rayne.”

Even with that one, merciful word, he could see the beginnings of regret forming in those innocent eyes, and he hurried on.

“If you had asked me a year ago,” he spoke softly and sincerely, “my answer would have been yes, easily.”

He saw the other man swallow sharply and felt hurt at seeing those broad shoulders fall.

“But not now?” came the near-whisper.

“I’m afraid not,” he answered, as gently as he could. “You are a good man, Rayne, and believe me, I wish I could say yes. But I just can’t.”

“Of course you have every right to choose who you want,” came the brave response, in a voice struggling to be strong and even, “but might I ask…why? Is it something I’ve done? The way I treated you when we first met?”

As a cut of guilt and compassion went through him, Merlin stepped forward and placed a hand on the man’s arm congenially.

“Please,” he said with the upmost sincerity, “believe me when I say it has nothing to do with you. If I had known you as a young man in my village, I have no doubt I could have fallen in love with you. You are noble and wise and everything I could want, honestly. It’s nothing you’ve done wrong. I’m afraid I’ve just already given my heart to another.”

The knight’s brows furrowed automatically in confusion.

“But,” he said, “there is no official companion traveling with you. Is it one of the knights? Is it Gwaine?”

Merlin chuckled at that. He supposed it was only natural for that to be his first guess, as openly affectionate as the cheerful knight was with him. No one would suspect him of aspiring so far above his rank as to fall in love with the king. But he never had stayed obediently in his place.

“No,” he replied honestly, dropping his hand as his own sadness welled up within him. “I’m afraid the one I love does not feel the same in return. But I do still love him, and it would be unfair to you if I pretended otherwise. My heart belongs to him, and I can’t give it to you even if I might want to.”

Rayne was not looking at Merlin, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor past the warlock. But Merlin could see that he was still considering what he’d been told and sorting out his own emotions. He remained quiet and allowed the man to do so, knowing how it felt to be rejected even by someone trying to be kind.

Rayne believed everything Merlin said, trusting him so deeply even with so little to go on. He believed he was the sort of man who might fit well with the sorcerer. Therefore, whether for jealous cause or not, he could not help but ponder about a man who had already outdone him. Who was this mysterious figure with enough magnificent qualities to have claimed Merlin’s splendid heart so completely? What sort of hero must he be?

Then, in an instant, a memory leapt up at the front of his mind—Merlin, shivering and dripping wet from the river, with a pair of possessive arms, the arms that had rescued him in a display of mighty courage and self-sacrifice, holding him steady as a blonde brow pressed affectionately against Merlin’s forehead. And Merlin’s face, practically glowing as he pulled away, his eyes meeting the other man’s full of open feeling before Rayne had reached them and hugged him.

“Arthur,” he said in understanding, and when he raised his eyes at last, he knew he was correct in the way Merlin’s darted down now.

“Yes.”

“But you said he doesn’t feel the same, so perhaps you might still give me a chance?”

If he had been looking, Rayne would have seen the flicker of conviction pass through Merlin’s eyes, but he was not looking. He was staring at the morning light streaming in through the window behind Merlin’s head, uttering his hope-born thoughts aloud.

“I would do everything I could to prove myself to you,” he continued. “I would make an effort to know you and please you. I’m not very good at romance, but I would bring you flowers if you like them. I would definitely fight for you. I know you can protect yourself, but with me, you wouldn’t have to. I would protect you with my life—”

He cut himself off there, because his gaze had slipped back to Merlin’s face. The look he saw there made all his half-hopeful thoughts skitter away like leaves in the wind.

Merlin saw the moment Rayne realized his dreaming was useless. With a deep breath and a sad smile, the sorcerer stepped forward and took Rayne’s hand in one of his own. This time the touch didn’t feel quite the same for the knight as it had the evening before.

“Perhaps, if the world had’ve been different,” the warlock murmured, meeting his eyes with a tender smile.

Rayne flashed back to a dozen little moments he’d witnessed in the last day—Merlin’s face when he saw Arthur again after the village fire, Arthur’s eyes sparkling as he laughed at something Merlin had said, Merlin’s hand reaching out to steady himself with Arthur’s arm as he stepped over a log in the forest, the two of them moving concurrently as though some subconscious chord allowed them to anticipate one another’s actions. He thought of all the stories he’d heard—of a prince’s servant who had endured his humble role even though he could have taken whatever he wanted, of a king who granted his cherished sorcerer honors traditionally given to royal blood only, of battles in which the two never left one another’s sides and thus always won the victory. Even their looks were complementary, Merlin’s lithe form and black hair an attractive contrast to Arthur’s fair features and strong build, dark subtle wit balancing radiant nobility, as if they had been designed as a pair to embody every kind of power…as though it were their destiny to be together.

“No,” he whispered, feeling the conviction of that bond deep in his soul. “In any world, you’d be his.”

Merlin was momentarily startled silent at such a profound statement, but after a couple of moments the truth of it settled over him as well. Even if he had met Rayne first, he would have loved Arthur more. He would always love Arthur more than anyone or anything.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could offer, with a tiny shrug of helpless agreement.

He knew he was forgiven when Rayne smiled at him then, his eyes lit up in the daylight, and he squeezed Merlin’s hand once firmly.

“Don’t be,” he answered. “ _I’m_ sorry for not seeing it before.”

There was a beat of comfortable, settling silence, and then Rayne spoke again, his voice now having regained its bold strength and volume.

“May I at least walk you to the ceremony—as your friend?”

Merlin grinned in relieved gratitude and nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he answered, dropping Rayne’s hand at last and allowing the man to hold open the door for him.

\-------------------------------------------

Arthur’s expectation that Merlin would come to help him dress had fallen down to a disappointment, but he still looked for him the whole walk by himself to the main throne room and peered over the heads of people as they filtered inside. It was not until the ceremony was seconds from starting that he finally glimpsed a familiar pleasant face through the crowd. The next instant, however, his fresh contentment was dashed as he saw who walked alongside his sorcerer.

Merlin and Rayne spoke lowly for a moment in the aisle, and Arthur swallowed when he saw his warlock squeeze the knight’s forearm in parting before they went to their separate seats. Merlin had, of course, been placed next to Arthur on the second-to-front row of chairs, but Arthur could think of nothing to say when he sat down. He wanted to ask what Rayne had said to him, if his confession of love had been as beautiful as Merlin’s to him had been months ago, if it had been more poetic and compelling than anything Arthur could ever invent. He feared the answer, however, and so he just sat there like a fool until Merlin turned to him with an easy grin.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked offhandedly, as normal as if Arthur’s whole world wasn’t changing right in front of him.

“I did,” the king answered, hoping he sounded equally as natural. “Did you, Merlin?”

“Yeah, I really like these beds. Did you know they’re stuffed with feathers? They’re much better than our wool ones back home. I’m thinking of having one made and sent to me.”

Arthur, for an irrational and spiteful moment, wanted to snap at him to be grateful for what he had in Camelot and stop looking in Nemeth for satisfaction. But he bit his tongue and the anger washed away into nothing but a terribly vulnerable feeling. Though he knew it had been the right thing to do, he wished now he hadn’t said yes to Rayne last night. But what could he do? He _had_ said yes, and now Merlin was going to fall in love with another and replace him.

He clenched his jaw as everyone stood in anticipation of the couple’s entrance.

When they stepped through the double doors together, Mithian and Eldom looked like the very forms a god and goddess would take to venture into the mortal world. They both appeared to glow in the afternoon light pouring through the open windows, elegantly acknowledging it when the people bowed on each row as they passed.

The vows were spoken, the silver circlet placed upon Eldom’s head, and then their kiss was long and real and the kind that could only be shared by two people who had already endured much together. The knights of Nemeth were the first to start cheering, followed by everyone else in the room.

“Long live Prince Eldom!” someone shouted from the middle of the room, and it turned into a joyous chant.

Arthur clapped with the rest of them, but some of his happiness was sapped by the lingering vision of Merlin and Rayne entering the room together in much the same way Eldom and Mithian had.

\-------------------------------------------

Arthur could only watch Merlin and Rayne chat amiably with the knights of Camelot for an hour before he just couldn’t anymore. Setting aside his cup on the edge of one of the food-bearing feast tables, he approached Mithian and her new consort. With a meaningful kiss to her hand and bow to Eldom, he spoke.

“I wish you the very best together,” he said sincerely. “It was a great honor to have witnessed this marriage today. I hope you will forgive me, your highness, but I’m suddenly feeling unwell and I think I will return to my chambers now.”

“Are you all right, Arthur?” Eldom inquired with concern. 

At the same time, Mithian glanced about to find Merlin. Seeing him laughing with Rayne and Elyan across the room, a look of understanding passed over the queen’s face in lieu of concern.

“Oh, yes,” Arthur was answering her husband. “I’m simply tired. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Nonsense,” Mithian joked kindly, “you’re not even thirty-five yet, Arthur.”

“Still,” he answered self-deprecatingly, “I find myself tiring at parties earlier and earlier these days. I will see you before we leave tomorrow.”

“All right,” the queen said with a nod and a sweet smile. “Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, your majesty.”

It was only a few minutes after the king of Camelot had departed that Merlin approached them, half-empty cup of wine in one hand.

“Merlin,” Eldom smiled, shaking his other hand warmly from where he sat, “we are so glad you got to be here.”

“I am too. It was the perfect way to end winter and prepare for spring,” Merlin replied happily enough, but there was a slight shadow in his eyes. “Have you seen Arthur? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Mithian shared a subtle glance with her husband as they took one another’s hands on the tabletop.

“He went to his chambers,” she told him.

“He said he wasn’t feeling well,” Eldom added helpfully.

A look of definite worry crossed over Merlin’s face, proof enough that Arthur did not, in fact, frequently tire out at parties.

“Oh,” he said, setting his cup down seemingly without thinking about it. “I should go and check on him. Thank you and congratulations again, your highnesses.”

With a low bow, he backed away from the table and dodged the crowds toward the door.

Gwaine appeared at their table a moment later, looking with them at the place where Merlin had just disappeared and taking a long, slow sip of his own wine. The three of them let the entire scene sink in for a moment, and then Mithian spoke at last with a sly lilt.

“I do hope you’re ready to pay your ten silver coins, Sir Gwaine.”

\-------------------------------------------

Merlin knocked lightly on Arthur’s door and waited for the call to enter before slipping inside and closing it behind him. He found the chambers unusually dim, with only a few candles lit around the place. Arthur was in the middle of straightening his sleep shirt when he turned around and looked surprised at seeing Merlin.

“Mithian said you weren’t feeling well,” the sorcerer said by way of explanation. “Are you ill? Do you need anything?”

Arthur meandered to light a few more candles on a candelabra sitting on the chest of drawers. Merlin looked for signs of sickness in his features, but his skin was not even pale; in fact, in the golden candlelight it glowed sunny brown.

“I’m fine,” came the affirming response. “It’s just been a long few days and I wanted to get some sleep before we return tomorrow.”

The atypical nature of that gave Merlin a peculiar feeling, which he was surprised to recognize as a knowledge that he was being lied to. Arthur had not lied to him in years.

The king turned and blew out the matchstick, facing Merlin.

“Why are you here? I thought you’d be with Rayne.”

The odd specificity of the assertion took Merlin aback for a moment, especially given the circumstances. Before he could ask, however, Arthur continued, turning away again and pretending to busy himself straightening some papers he’d brought on the desk.

“Though I suppose you’ll have plenty of time to be with him in the near future.”

 _That_ certainly summoned a lot of questions.

“What do you mean?”

Arthur left the papers a mess and turned to look at him, a few questions of his own clear in his eyes.

“Rayne said he was going to ask you this morning,” he said in confusion. “I assumed he did.”

At Merlin’s continued look of confusion, he went on, stepping toward him again and leaving the desk more of a disaster than before.

“Last night, Sir Rayne asked me for permission to court you. He wanted my approval to return to Camelot with us, and I gave it. I thought he would have told you his intentions by now.”

Merlin thought the situation with Rayne was over with minimal pain on either side. Turned out there was apparently more hurt to come—not for Rayne but for himself. The unspoken implication was that Rayne had asked permission, and Arthur had said yes. Despite his thoughts the last few weeks, Merlin knew his friend wasn’t so forgetful that he did not remember his warlock's confession of love; no, he certainly would have remembered, and this was a small attempt at putting Merlin on the track of another man. He could not be upset; of course Arthur meant no harm to him and only wanted him to have a chance at happiness. But still it stung anew at being rejected a second time by the man he loved.

“Arthur,” he began, hearing how his own voice had sunk to a murmur under the weight of his sadness, “he did ask me. I said no.”

The catch of breath in Arthur’s chest was so small and quiet that Merlin could not have noticed. Still, the king stared at him with wide eyes and bated breath, his mind a blank as to what he should say next. When Merlin continued, the warlock had lowered his gaze and was mindlessly trailing his fingertips on the post of the canopy bed.

“I know,” he said in a whisper that mixed with the faint sound of flickering candles, “that it would be easier for you if I had said yes. Rayne would have made a good knight for our army, and you would not have had to worry about me anymore if I had fallen in love with him.”

Lips parted as he listened, Arthur’s eyes were locked on Merlin’s face.

“But I can’t, Arthur,” he continued, an even softer whisper now. “Nothing’s changed since I told you. I’m still in…in love with you. I know you’ll never feel the same, but for me it’s not something that will just go away. Rayne is worthy of my love, I have no doubt, but to give him a chance would have been a lie because I’d be offering something that wasn’t mine to give. My love belongs to you. I’m sorry if you wish it was different, but that’s how it is.”

There was hardly a moment of silence before Arthur replied in a voice soft and a little choked.

“You…still love me?”

Merlin shrugged helplessly.

“I will forever,” he answered, in a tone devoid of all plea or pretense, offering nothing but straightforward honesty.

Arthur felt like his heart suddenly started beating again after several minutes. All at once, he was free of tension he hadn’t even known he’d been holding for days…weeks… _years_. A feeling of rightness overcame him so mightily that his breath caught again. Like a veil lifted, he suddenly saw every shared meal in the last ten years as courtship, every whispered secret a building of trust, every stray touch a step toward _this_. For the first time in a long while, Arthur knew exactly what he wanted, and now there was no handsome knight standing in his way; his path was clear…and it was only a few steps long.

“Thank _God_ ,” he breathed out, surging forward.

Merlin’s cry of surprise was muffled by Arthur’s mouth on his, as he was shoved backward into the wall beside the bed. Despite all his finely-tuned reflexes, he could do nothing but stand there with wide eyes and a blank mind as warm, chapped lips claimed his own without hesitation. After several seconds, Arthur pulled away but did not move his hands from where they gently cupped both sides of Merlin’s throat.

“Arthur—?” the breathless gasp was all he could manage.

The king was smiling, his eyes sparkling with unabashed glee, and Merlin was very, very confused. Arthur’s pure joy faded a bit at seeing that lost look in his friend’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words coming out in a rush, as his thumbs stroked his sorcerer’s smooth jaw. “I really am an idiot, and I know that, Merlin. It always takes me much too long to realize what I should know already; it happened with your magic and now with this. I’m sorry for any pain I caused you. I love you, and I am sorry.”

“ _Arthur_ —?”

This time, his gasp was more full of amazement than shock, but it was cut off as Arthur leaned forward again and silenced him. Though he had no clue what had happened to change his king’s mind from his refusal months before, Merlin reacted properly this time, throwing aside any doubts and worries; he’d seen that look in Arthur’s eyes, that resolute, sure, heartened look that let him know his king knew exactly what he was doing and he _meant_ it. 

That realization hitting him like a strike of lightning, Merlin kissed Arthur in return, tossing his arms around strong shoulders, closing his eyes, and pushing forward with an open, willing, smiling mouth.

Apparently that’s precisely what the king wanted. With a low growl deep in his chest, he pressed his entire front against Merlin, effectively pinning him against the wall. Merlin sucked in air when Arthur’s mouth moved abruptly to his neck, sucking hard enough that he knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. The warlock had not been with anyone in months, more than a year now in fact, but he didn’t remember it being quite this… _fast_. Already he could feel his mind reeling with lust, his cock straining against his breeches. His hands fumbled to hike up Arthur’s shirt and touch the warm skin there, his nails scratching against the small of the other man’s back. His magic was jolting in his blood like it was feeling the arousal too, and that was certainly new.

Arthur’s hands were hot against his sides as they shoved his formal shirt up so hard Merlin was afraid it would rip and he’d have to explain it to the courtier to whom it belonged. He dug his face more firmly into Merlin’s throat and nipped at the skin, making the warlock hiss out his name sharply.

At the sound, Arthur grasped onto Merlin’s arms. His mouth never ceasing the kisses to his throat, he tossed Merlin onto the bed so roughly that the wooden frame creaked. Then he crawled on top of him and tugged down the collar of the shirt so that he could continue his mind-numbing suckling and kissing across Merlin’s collar bone.

Merlin wrapped his legs loosely around Arthur’s waist, his cock already aching for attention as his hands wandered across the king’s stomach and chest under his night shirt.

Arthur sat up and whipped off the shirt over his head, and then pulled Merlin up enough to do the same to his. Immediately he dove down again, kissing and licking at the newly-exposed skin.

Merlin cried out as Arthur’s tongue pressed firmly against one hardened nipple, and his hands slid down further to grip at small of the king’s back through his sleep breeches. This made Arthur’s hips fall down atop his own so that their hard cocks rubbed through the fabrics.

Both men groaned and Arthur instantly, unconsciously started rutting against him. Merlin reached down and tried to pull the king’s waistband down but only succeeded in getting it a little past his hips. The tip of Arthur’s cock slipped out and Merlin felt dribbles of precome leave a trail on his stomach as the king thrusted.

The warlock moaned at the sensation, unable to stop it, as he forced his hand between them and pushed down the breeches further so that he could wrap his hand around the tip of Arthur’s cock. Arthur growled, his hips stilling but his cock twitching in Merlin’s grip. In all the years he’d been at his side, he had never touched him here before, never seen him hard and wet, but he needed to now. He was desperate to see him.

Without uttering any spell, Merlin felt his magic flash in his eyes and give him the strength to push Arthur off. He rolled with him so that he was on top now, and yanked off the king’s pants the rest of the way. Tossing them aside with one hand, he reached to undo the laces of his own with the other. Abruptly a flood of sense came over him, drowning out his lust for a moment.

He looked down and took in the sight of Arthur, naked, panting, little scars here and there catching the flickering candlelight. He licked his lips, wanting nothing but to be nude himself and prove with his body what he’d been feeling for so many long months. But he had to know.

“Are you sure?” he asked, panting for air himself.

Arthur’s eyes formed a question at first, and then his fond smile shone brighter than the dim candles ever could. The closest hand to him stretched out to grab his wrist, the only part of him Arthur could reach, and squeezed firmly.

“I’m sure, Merlin,” came the easy, confident reply.

That was all he needed to know. In a rush, he divested himself of his own breeches and was lying atop him, pressing insistent kisses to his king’s mouth only slightly gentler than Arthur had to his moments ago. His cock twitched where it was pressed against the other man’s skin, and then Arthur froze.

“Merlin.”

He pushed himself up slightly, bracing himself for rejection after all, but Arthur’s face flushed with a much more personal embarrassment.

“I should probably tell you,” he said, biting his lower lip in that way that Merlin had always found positively adorable, “I’ve never—”

“With a man?” the warlock guessed, and then leaned back down to kiss his forehead and jaw. “I know.”

“No, Merlin.”

He pushed himself up again, curious now.

“With anyone,” came the weak, red-faced confession, “other than Guinevere.”

That was enough to make Merlin sit up a little further, his hard cock forgotten momentarily where it lay against Arthur’s stomach.

“ _What_?”

It came out sharper than he’d intended, not because it was a problem but because he could not believe it. He knew that in the last few years Arthur had not seen anyone, but part of Merlin’s view of him as a prince had been that he made all the maidens swoon. It was true he’d never actually seen any of them entering or leaving the then-prince’s chambers, but….

He balanced himself with a hand on the man’s ribs when the king pushed himself up slightly and settled against the pillows so their eyes were more even.

“I never wanted it to be just because of who I am,” he explained, one hand falling half-thinkingly to Merlin’s thigh and stroking, trembling slightly. “I was always afraid someone would only want me because of my position, or worse, they would do it whether they wanted it or not out of fear.”

Merlin swallowed and nodded understandingly. He’d never had to worry about that, but suddenly he could see that he might have worried too, if he’d been born royal.

“And, I suppose,” he continued, the blush getting even darker in his face, “I wanted it to be with someone who…I also cared for, and who cared for me in return.”

A rush of love shot through Merlin all the way to his core. Of course Arthur wanted that more than self-centered, meaningless sex. He was _Arthur_.

The other man misinterpreted his smile for amusement, and bit his lower lip even harder before continuing, a little defensively,

“I’m only telling you so that, if I do something wrong….”

He did not continue, but that was all right, because Merlin understood him just as easily as he always had. More than that, he was now more determined than ever to show Arthur exactly how much he did, in fact, care for him.

Diving down again, he surprised Arthur with an intensely passionate kiss; at the same time, he took the king’s hands and guided them up his own body slowly. He himself had plenty of experience—romps behind the stables when he had been a servant and, though they were increasingly infrequent, shared evenings in his own chambers with some nice-looking person who wouldn’t remember his name in a week. But that was always with men and women who had had equally as much experience as himself or, oftentimes, more, and to them he was just a body to use or be used by. This was so, so much better. This felt pure.

“Do,” he whispered into Arthur’s ear, beginning to squirm helplessly on top of him as the king’s hands found their own rhythm, “whatever you want. Whatever you feel like doing to me”—He smirked and he knew Arthur would be able to feel and hear it.—“I’m here to serve.”

Arthur’s laugh was a little breathless, as he abruptly tightened his hold so that Merlin was forced closer against him.

After that, it was impossible to say how much time passed before either of them caught up with themselves again. There was kissing—a lot of kissing—and hands wandering everywhere, and breaths and moans and grunts. Merlin let Arthur explore him willingly, let him take his fill. Then somehow Merlin ended up on top, and he could see by the way Arthur’s cock was twitching against his abdomen that he needed to come soon—as much as Merlin himself did.

“Wait,” he whispered, moving one leg back over the man’s body.

“Where are you going?” Arthur demanded, sounding more wrecked and intoxicated than Merlin had ever heard.

He did not answer, but instead he dug around in Arthur’s bag with trembling hands and pulled out a vial of bath oils he’d put there. Arthur always loved to be relaxed in the bath and so Merlin always made sure to pack the salts and oils wherever they went where he might bathe peacefully. This time he was never prouder of himself for his efficiency. He really was a much better servant than Arthur gave him credit for.

Without a word, he returned to his position straddling the king’s hips. Once the oil was coating his fingers, he reached behind himself and pressed one inside his hole. He released a harsh breath; he was tight, very tight, after so long. He almost forgot Arthur was watching as he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of stretching himself open, sliding one then two fingers in and out, easily at first and then roughly scissoring. When he added a third finger and it burned for a moment, he reached with his other hand and stroked his own cock.

When he opened his eyes then, he was surprised to find Arthur gaping up at him, gaze dancing back and forth from Merlin’s face to his cock to his chest to his wet fingers and back again like he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look more.

Merlin smiled, suddenly feeling a shyness he hadn’t known since being a boy. This was Arthur, and Arthur was watching him touch himself, and by the look on his face, he was liking it. If only that farm boy on the prince’s bad side could have known where he’d end up.

He pushed himself up onto his knees and reached back to find Arthur’s cock; it jumped in his loose grip, and he thought for a moment about the size and weight of it, how well it suited him, how good it was going to feel.

When he started to sink down onto it, Arthur’s grip on his thighs tightened to the point of bruising pain and the king’s entire body shuddered. He kept going, enjoying the burn (he always had liked it when it hurt a little, though he’d always been too embarrassed to admit it), until he was fully seated against Arthur’s hips and the king was groaning under him.

“ _Merlin_.”

Arthur had said his name in a lot of different tones over the years, but never had it sounded like _that_.

He flattened both palms against Arthur’s chest and started to move.

He’d always been good at this in particular. Perhaps it was his build, as a lover had once suggested; he would never be a knight, but he could certainly roll his narrow hips well enough to subdue one. Around and then up and down, slowly, circling and then thrusting, feeling his insides stretch around the thick length of his king.

Arthur’s hands had not left Merlin’s thighs, but his eyes had squeezed shut and he was groaning with his head pressed back into the pillow. The sight of him, helpless and half-delirious under him, made Merlin’s protective instincts unexpectedly kick up. There had been a few times when their relationship had suddenly hit a turning point and become something more, something deeper and stronger. This time was the most powerful of all, though. Now, he really did know Arthur better than anyone else ever had. Now, he’d seen him in every possible state of being, and he loved him all the more for it.

With that thought fueling him, he readjusted to an easier position and began to ride him properly, focusing as much on his own pleasure as on Arthur’s.

The king’s breath caught at the change of pace and his eyes flew open, and he felt lost in the unrealness of the night. Only a week ago, he had not even been thinking of Merlin like this, but now he was unabashedly mesmerized by the beauty of him as he moved—the drop of sweat that rolled down the side of his long throat and disappeared into the sparse dark hair of his chest, the lithe muscles that rippled in his arms and his abdomen with each thrust, the gruff, satisfied, broken-off moans that drifted in the air as his brow furrowed with the effort. 

With Guinevere, Arthur had always been the leader; she’d been so fragile and submissive in his hands that he had been happy to show her strength and guidance. He’d always assumed that with his nature he would be the dominant partner no matter who it was. But Merlin was dominating the whole situation while barely needing to try, just as he always had since the day they’d met. And Arthur was realizing quite abruptly that he may not ever have been the dominant one between them after all, whether he wore the crown or not, and he really couldn’t care less because either way he trusted Merlin with everything.

Merlin kept on like that until they were both damp with sweat and panting for breath, pausing every few moments to roll his hips or change the pace or adjust the angle. Finally he stopped and fell forward, his hard cock settling against Arthur’s stomach as he dug his face into the king’s throat. His arms slid up around the other man’s shoulders so that he was more or less embracing him; Arthur’s arms went around him instinctively, slipping up and down his back as the sorcerer pressed quick, sloppy kisses to his throat, under his ear, at his jaw, to his lips. He kissed him back then, with ten times more passion that he’d ever experienced in any battle. He was almost sure he could taste magic on Merlin’s tongue.

Suddenly overcome with need, Arthur rolled them both over so that the warlock was flat on his back. His cock slipped out of Merlin’s hole with a slick pop, and he scrambled to spread warlock’s legs open and up so he could push himself in again. Merlin’s sharp cry was as lovely as the look on his face as he reached up with both hands and grasped blindly, desperately, at the pillow under his head; one hand clenched the pillowcase and the other pressed flat against the oak headboard for some support as Arthur began to drive into him over and over almost brutally.

The sound of cut-off moans from Merlin and harsh breaths from Arthur joined the slapping of skin and the creaking of the bed, and the king copied Merlin’s example and leaned down enough to press his face into his throat, though he was too high on his pleasure to give any proper kisses. 

“You’re _mine_ ,” he heard himself growl, uncompromisingly, and something deep inside him that connected his soul to his sorcerer’s jolted with the truth of it, dismissing Rayne and any other person who had ever tried to claim Merlin as irrelevant. “ _Mine_.”

The hand Merlin had been using to hold onto the pillow let it go to take a fistful of Arthur’s hair instead. He had been content showing Arthur how he felt, but this new dynamic made his already-heightened senses fly even higher, so that everything around him faded away except for this one conviction, this one certainty.

“Yes,” he breathed, with the same willing submission he’d always displayed to this worthy man, repeating it with each thrust into him. “Yours. Yours, Arthur, yours.”

He felt as though he were being marked, like any traces of previous lovers were being erased from him and their marks—however big or small they’d been left on him—were gone for good. He forgot about all of them, every name he’d ever gasped out and every face he’d ever kissed; all he could see or hear or smell or touch was Arthur, and he held onto him with all he had.

With one hand stable on the mattress beside Merlin’s shoulder, Arthur reached down with the other hand to grasp Merlin’s length and stroke him firmly in time with his thrusts. He could feel the sorcerer's hot breath against his temple with each exhale, as Merlin rubbed his jaw uncoordinatedly against him, an almost strange gesture of affection in the midst of their lust. Then there was a hand urging his own away, and he let go of Merlin’s cock obediently. He felt the warlock give himself three quick, harsh strokes and then his breath halted altogether and his entire body was stiffening, his insides squeezing Arthur’s cock tighter.

At the same moment, there was a flash of light and a quiet roar from beside the bed, and Arthur froze and pushed himself up in instinctive, battle-ready alertness.

But it was just the candelabra on the bedside table, each candle on it suddenly having flared to life. He glanced as far as he could see around them and found every candle in the vicinity had done the same.

In bleary surprise, he looked down again and felt his mouth part slightly at what he saw. Gorgeous glowing gold shone from under Merlin’s fluttering eyelids, gasping breaths slipping through his slack mouth, a look of the most intense satisfaction Arthur had ever witnessed turning his face into some lustful work of art just for him and no one else. In the span of two heartbeats, the gold had faded and Merlin’s eyes had drifted shut while he still fought to catch his breath. His slender hand moved to rest on his own chest, just above the streaks of come that he had released.

Arthur could not take anymore then. Draping himself over Merlin again, he tucked his hips close under him and began to pound his hot, slick, relaxed hole, barely pulling halfway out before shoving back in, feeling like an animal in heat. He scarcely registered Merlin’s trembling hands drifting over his back, tracing his skin softly as he allowed Arthur just to _take_ him until he was done. It only took five more thrusts, and then Arthur was muffling a rugged shout into Merlin’s shoulder as his hips jolted and he emptied his load into that tight heat.

He breathed in the sweet smell of Merlin’s skin for a moment before rolling off and collapsing beside him.

The silence that followed was loud, but in the best way possible; it was full of meaning and a mutual awareness, but still, it was almost amusing how quiet it was compared to all the noise they’d just been making. The candles were the only things making noise now, their wild flickering only just starting to settle down into gentle flames.

Merlin lay staring up at the candelabra on the table beside him, sighing deep, slow breaths as he just relaxed there and enjoyed this newfound feeling of being completely at home in the right person’s bed…or close enough for now, at least.

He felt Arthur shift on his right, and then his presence loomed over him. He turned his head, the small movement taking a lot more effort than it normally would in his hazy state, but it was worth the energy when he saw the other man’s smile. He smiled back, blushing slightly despite everything. The king looked up to the candles and then back at him.

“Are you going to do that _every_ time?” he demanded, his voice sounding much louder than usual in the quietness.

Merlin blinked at the candles, realizing that was actually a good question. His magic had been a lot more _active_ with Arthur than it had with anyone else, ever. He hadn’t even realized he’d done that until it was over.

“Not sure,” he mused. “It’s never happened before.”

“Ah. That’s because you’ve never had _me_ before.”

He offered the usual, expected raised eyebrow at his king.

“Right,” he deadpanned skeptically (even though they both knew full well that was exactly it).

Arthur grinned, flashing his teeth and all, looking happier than Merlin had ever seen. He pushed his arm under Merlin’s shoulders and manhandled him until Arthur lay comfortably on his back against the feather-stuffed pillows and the sorcerer was pressed solidly against his chest. Merlin loosely curled his fist against Arthur’s bare sternum and felt sleepiness begin to fall heavily over him, as the other man’s fingers trailed softly along his back and shoulder.

“Merlin?”

“Hm?” was all he could muster.

There was a long moment of silence again after that, as a thousand words hung between them—words of love, of trust, of devotion. But none of them needed to be said. They both knew they were there already, always existing between them. So the only words Merlin heard as he drifted off at last were,

“Thank you.”

\-------------------------------------------

Neither of them had, of course, quite considered yet how they were going to make their new status public. Turns out, they wouldn’t need to exactly, because it all became a little _too_ public early the next morning, when a lowly manservant entered with orders to wake the visiting king for breakfast.

Arthur had always been a light sleeper, and he opened his eyes just in time to see the poor young servant get a clear view of Merlin’s bare arse where the blankets had slipped down a bit low. Merlin, in turn, rolled over just in time to see the boy flush bright red and fumble out a profuse array of apologies before backing out of the room so fast he almost tripped. The slam of the door reverberated until both Merlin and Arthur could waken fully enough to realize what had just happened.

One look at each other, blinking in surprise, and then they both began to laugh so hard they could scarcely breathe.

“Well, I’m sure everyone is going to know about _that_ before we even come down for breakfast,” Arthur said wryly after his amusement had finally faded, finally regaining enough composure to get out of bed and make for the wardrobe.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, crawling to his knees on the center of the mattress and appreciatively watching him walk away.

He spoke half-jokingly but half-seriously too, as he wasn’t sure how Arthur felt about being revealed so ingloriously. 

“I should’ve had you put on some clothes last night,” the king grumbled from behind the wardrobe door, and Merlin relaxed at hearing no real annoyance in his tone. “Not sure how I feel about that boy going about, describing your backside to everyone in the kitchen gossip.”

“Ooh, is that jealousy?” Merlin taunted, feeling free as the birds he could faintly hear singing in the warm weather outside.

“No,” Arthur shot back, standing up and tossing some of his own clothes at the sorcerer. “I just want to preserve the dignity of Camelot, and that’s a bit difficult to do with the court sorcerer’s _little bottom_ being discussed by all the servants of Nemeth.”

Merlin glared at him as he pulled the blue tunic from over his face where Arthur had thrown it deliberately.

“Put those on,” Arthur told him, already pulling on another pair of breeches.

“But they’re yours.”

“Yes, well done, Merlin, but you can hardly wear some poor stranger’s formal robes to breakfast, can you? And hurry up. We don’t want to be too late. There’s going to be enough talk already.”

Merlin shrugged and tried not to feel a little thrill at wearing Arthur’s—his _lover’s_ —oversized clothes for everyone to know. He failed entirely at covering his delight, however, when Arthur pressed a chaste but purposeful kiss to his forehead as he passed to retrieve his boots from the corner.

\-------------------------------------------

Eldom and Mithian had graciously invited the knights of Camelot to share the farewell breakfast. As soon as Merlin and Arthur entered, looking bedraggled and glowing as beautifully as the newlyweds were, Mithian leaned over to Gwaine and whispered subtly.

“I’ll take those ten silver coins now.”

Gwaine, having anticipated this exact scenario, gladly handed her a little jingling pouch without another word between them.

There were a few silent questions passed between the rest of the knights as they recognized the clothes that hung a bit too loose on Merlin’s frame. But as soon as dawning looks of realization began to register on the other men’s faces, prompted by a waggling eyebrow from Gwaine, they controlled themselves and returned to their grand breakfast as though they’d noticed nothing.

Only an hour later, all the visitors from Camelot stood in the courtyard, preparing their horses to depart. As he adjusted the reins on his beloved steed, Arthur noticed one of the knights in the crowd of courtiers and astutely went over to him while the others were distracted in their work.

Sir Rayne bowed to him as respectfully as he had two nights before. Then he looked into the king’s eyes with all the confidence of a man who knew things had gone the way they were supposed to go, and with a knowing half-smile that assured him there was no grudge between them. Arthur was grateful to see such a kindness in him; with Lancelot there had been a tension the last couple of years and the difference here was refreshing.

“Thank you for everything, Sir Rayne,” he said, hoping he would understand what he meant.

Perhaps the story of Merlin’s arse had gotten through the ranks of knights already, or perhaps Rayne was more astute than he seemed; either way, the man looked over to where Merlin—still wearing Arthur’s clothes, with half a dark bruise peeking out over the tunic collar—was feeding his horse an apple before the journey, and his smile turned peaceable.

“I would wish you the best, your highness,” he said with a bit of humor gleaming in his eyes, “but it seems you already have it.”

Arthur glanced to Merlin as well and acknowledged his statement with a smile, unable to protest such an appraisal.

“And you are more than deserving of him,” Rayne surprised him by adding, in a tone low with his sincerity.

“Thank you,” he answered. “I hope to see you again someday, Rayne. You truly are one of the best Nemeth has ever had.”

He reached out with one hand, and Rayne grasped his forearm willingly.

“That means a great deal, from you,” he said honestly. “Be well, sire.”

With another small smile and nod of appreciation, Arthur released his arm and returned to his party. Merlin watched him approach, realizing where he had been, and his unspoken question was answered in the way Arthur squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, his hand lingering for a moment longer than he might have before.

Even with the distance, Merlin knew Rayne was watching him. He raised one hand to wave farewell, and was glad when the man waved in return without appearing to hesitate.

Then the warlock climbed onto his own horse; the animal shifted on the cobblestones, seeming as anxious to make toward home as he was, but he held him steady as Mithian and Eldom approached.

“Have a safe journey,” the queen called up to them, smiling widely as her husband slipped one arm around her.

“Thank you, your highness,” Arthur answered, gripping the reins of his own horse, which shifted as restlessly as Merlin’s.

“Send word when you’ve arrived,” Eldom added, “so that we know you’re safe.”

“We will,” Arthur assured him warmly.

"Thank you, Arthur, for everything,” the queen said meaningfully, and Arthur nodded with an understanding smile.

Then there was a chorus of goodbyes, and the Camelot knights parted so that Merlin’s horse could catch up with Arthur’s before they followed their own rulers—one inherited, one elected—back toward their own beloved city.

\-------------------------------------------

Arthur said nothing to the knights about anything during the ride through the forest, and so Merlin did not ask. They talked and laughed and teased as always, and no one might have known the difference except the two of them looked into each other’s eyes quite a bit more often than usual.

When the sun began to set and they made camp, Merlin warmed up the leftover food Mithian had sent with them from the feast and they rested under the shelter of the blossoming trees. When the stars emerged through the gaps between the branches, Arthur surprised them all by insisting he clean the dishes this time. He carried the bowls to the stream nearby, and Merlin settled with his back against a log while he and the knights continued to talk and joke.

Then, Arthur further surprised him by returning, planting himself on the ground right next to him, and pulling him close to his side with an arm around his shoulders. Picking up his own cup of mead, the king took a gulp of it and then calmly kissed Merlin’s temple before taking another sip.

There was a brief moment in which Merlin could see knights weren’t quite sure how to react, but it was only that—a moment. Arthur met each of their gazes in turn, his smile full of assurance and peace. In the next heartbeat, they simply went back to their drink and conversation, although he could see them glancing with warm, fully accepting looks that only grew more openly fond the more they drank. It was then that he relaxed completely against Arthur and listened amusedly to the riveting debate of whether Leon or Gwaine had a stronger punch.

He and Arthur shared their blankets that night, and he was so warm and comfortable and sleepy he even forgot to feel aroused at their closeness. He simply fit his head under the man’s jaw, curled up as close as he could to him, and wondered as he slipped off into pleasant dreams how he could ever have doubted his blessings.

\-------------------------------------------

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the northern gate of the city. It seemed possible the people of Camelot had missed them equally as much as they’d missed the people, if the celebratory welcome in the streets meant anything. The council were, as always, utterly relieved to have their king back in control and the kingdom out of their modest hands, and other knights who happened to be around cheered and hooted upon seeing their friends returned safe and sound.

By the time Arthur had been updated on any significant developments and dealt with all pressing issues, it was after nightfall. Merlin had not yet even been to his own chambers yet, having accompanied Arthur in his tasks, and yet he couldn’t protest when the king laid a hand on his hip and half-ordered, half-requested,

“Come help me bathe?”

He willingly followed him from the courtyard to his chambers, feeling almost like he was in a dream—or perhaps it was the opposite. Now that they’d returned, it suddenly felt more real than it had been in unfamiliar Nemeth. This was their new life now. 

It seemed impossible that the last time he’d been undressing Arthur for a bath, Merlin had been averting his eyes so carefully, with all this new freedom he now had to indulge himself…which he did. He removed the king’s clothes slowly, piece by piece, and felt Arthur’s tiny smile and keen eyes on him as his hands traced along bare skin where they would not have dared to touch previously. When he got to the last thin undergarment, it was tented rather obviously and he couldn’t help but look up through his lashes.

Arthur was petting his hair approvingly, which was yet another variation from their usual routine, and so he didn’t stop. Gently he pulled the garment down and helped him step out of it one foot at a time, and then stood up without looking too closely to the place where he really, really desired.

As Arthur’s hand moved to stroke along his back, still clothed in the king’s blue tunic, Merlin reached out with one hand and cast a silent spell to warm up the cooled bath water in the tub.

Arthur climbed into the steaming water, and now that his arousal was covered under the surface Merlin could focus solely on the usual tasks. Even going through their typical routine held a fresh feeling, however; he had always considered this something of a sacred charge, but now when he lathered the soap in the king’s hair he noticed that Arthur leaned into the touch more than he had before. Also, after Merlin had run a soapy rag over his chest had back, the other man had always taken the rag from him to clean the rest of his own body. This time, however, he simply stood and allowed the warlock to wipe him down gently below the waist; Merlin licked his lips as he did and knew Arthur saw it.

They both chuckled lightly when Merlin ruffled the towel over his head after he’d stepped out, the playful roughness strange compared to the solemn sweetness of the bath. Merlin started to reach for Arthur’s nightclothes, but was halted by the king with one hand on his.

“Don’t.”

Merlin had no desire to protest the man’s continued nudity, but the next suggestion startled him a bit.

“Can you clean the water?”

The sorcerer gave him a questioning look, but raised one hand obligingly toward the tub.

_“Ic beclaense bes waeter.”_

There had not been a lot of dirt on Arthur and so the water did not appear too different, but the king leaned over and inspected it just the same to make sure it suited his wants.

“Heat it up again.”

Merlin was definitely following him now, and without moving his gaze from the king’s he held up his hand once more. He felt it when his eyes flashed gold and saw the steam rising again in the corner of his vision.

Arthur was much faster at undressing him that he’d been earlier, and that was most clearly due to the fact that the king was half-hard once again, his lovely cock stiffening unhesitatingly under Merlin’s deliberate gaze as he helped him pull the tunic over his head and step out of the breeches. He never had been one for showing much patience.

Merlin’s bath tub was a nice one, but nowhere near as nice as the king’s and his rough herbal soap didn’t smell nearly as good as the flowery one Arthur was scrubbing into his hair with both hands. Together they made quick work of his own bath; Merlin was only a little uncomfortable at the changing of roles, but Arthur did not seem to be least bit uneasy about it. He washed Merlin down with all the focus of a warrior sharpening a blade or a king signing in a new law, running the linen rag over every inch of his skin until Merlin was trembling with arousal.

Arthur helped him out of the bath, and the water on the floor made him slip a little so that the king had to grab him.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Idiot,” Arthur huffed fondly, righting him so that he could wipe him down swiftly with the towel.

Merlin ran his hands appreciatively over the other man’s broad shoulders as he worked the towel around his back. Then, once Arthur had dropped the towel to the floor nearby, the sorcerer slid his hands up to cup the king’s face and kiss him soundly.

“I feel like there’s so much I want to say,” he said honestly, “but I can’t think of anything.”

“Then don’t say anything, Merlin,” the king replied as though it were that simple. “There are plenty of other ways to pass the time.”

Though Arthur hadn’t meant for it to, his words made a very appealing idea strike him, and he quirked his head obligingly.

“You’re right. There are,” he agreed.

With that, he dropped to his knees and took Arthur’s hard cock all the way to the base. He choked a bit as it struck the back of his throat, pulled off, and then sucked him in again.

Arthur, not having expected it, couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting forward into the delicious warmth as both his hands tangled into Merlin’s hair. Merlin choked again, but hummed enthusiastically and held still so that Arthur could do it again. The king was careful not to hurt him or go too fast, but the spikes of pleasure that shot through him made his knees tremble and his hips move almost of their own accord.

He had never asked this of Guinevere no matter how much he’d thought about it. He’d offered it himself, burying his face between her legs and using his tongue on her more than once, but she had never reciprocated and he had felt it would be demeaning to ask.

He did not feel he was demeaning Merlin now, not with the grateful little noises his warlock was making and the way his adept tongue moved over him as he suckled sloppily on the tip. He felt worshipped, yes, but it was a willing servitude; Merlin _wanted_ this. Arthur had known for years he could ask anything of Merlin and his friend would do his best to give it, but now suddenly he realized that applied to the bedroom as well. He felt he could ask Merlin for any one of his private fantasies and Merlin could fulfill it, every one. A renewed excitement for their future together bubbled up in him; it gave him the courage to ask where he had never requested anything before.

He opened his eyes and found the sight of Merlin’s lips stretched pink around him was almost perfect, but not quite. There was one more detail he needed.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and his breath caught when those wide, innocent-looking blue eyes flickered up to meet his own, while Merlin continued to suck noisily on him.

He ran his fingertips all over his warlock’s face, relishing in the light he saw in those eyes (how had he never realized how perfectly beautiful they were before?). Though the pace was slow and unforced, he still found himself nearing the edge simply from the array of sensations—the sight, the sound, the touch. He wished he could have gone on that way for hours, simply enjoying it all.

But this still wasn’t quite enough. Merlin’s hollowed cheeks were flushed, a sign of his unseen arousal, and though his sweet face was certainly appealing, there were other parts of him Arthur desired to see.

“Come on,” he said, hearing the breathlessness of his own voice and feeling the trembling of his own hands as he grasped at the sharp shoulder and tugged.

Merlin obediently stood, licking his lips; Arthur could not keep from chasing his tongue with a kiss and was startled at the taste of himself lingering in that warm mouth. When he opened his eyes again, Merlin was grinning at him.

“Good, my lord?” he asked half-teasingly.

Arthur smacked his backside a bit too hard, causing him to yelp and jolt forward, which caused his own erection—perhaps even stronger than Arthur’s—to slide along the other man’s groin. They both groaned and Arthur kissed him again, this time releasing his face to run his hands up all along his sides and back, until they reached his arse and yanked him forward.

Merlin hummed agreeably and allowed Arthur to manhandle him toward the bed.

In Nemeth, their touches had been hasty and intense, the touches of men who had not realized how long they’d been waiting; this time, however, both were willing to go slowly and softly. When they had both reached their limit of merely touching, the bed—Arthur’s bed this time, infinitely more familiar and comforting—was not as much of a mess as the one in Nemeth had been. Arthur’s body was caging Merlin’s, his deep kisses holding the warlock still.

The king pulled his head back and brushed Merlin’s hair with one hand, catching his own breath for a moment before he spoke again, another command Merlin was more than happy to obey.

“Turn over.”

Arthur rolled off of him and grabbed one of the pillows, shoving it under Merlin’s hips so that the warlock lay comfortably on his stomach with his arse exposed temptingly.

Merlin folded his arms under his head and inhaled a shaky breath, rubbing himself against the soft pillow just enough to feel the pinpricks of pleasure. Despite their having been washed since they’d been gone, the royal bedclothes still smelt unmistakably of Arthur. His magic was practically singing in his blood.

He heard Arthur moving about behind him, but then the stillness lasted so long he was just starting to turn his head to question why he’d stopped when one calloused hand stroked leisurely along his back. With so soft a touch, his muscles tensed on their own, and he shuddered out the other man’s name muffled by his arm while he spread his legs instinctively.

“You look—” There was another, shorter pause, as the hand stroked back up while Merlin whimpered “—beautiful, Merlin, truly.”

The words were spoken in nothing more than a murmur, as though Arthur too was in awe. Merlin had been called beautiful before, often by half-drunk strangers in the town, only some of whom he’d deemed kind enough to let touch him. He was never quite sure if he believed it; he’d always been a bit awkward-looking in his own eyes, his magic the only truly beautiful thing about him. But his magic was as much him as his skin was, or his hair, or his bones. It settled over him in a form perhaps others could recognize as beauty. It really just wasn’t something he’d considered much before.

He was considering it now, though. Arthur was not a liar, every piece of him genuine and real, and if he said it then Merlin believed it. The warlock pushed back so that Arthur could see what he wanted, more of a plea than an invitation.

He was almost surprised to hear the king’s small groan of want, and then two strong hands were spreading him apart and the pad of one thumb was brushing over his hole.

His toes curled, a sharp noise escaping him as his hips thrust into the pillow instinctively.

“Take me,” he found himself whispering mindlessly. “Please, Arthur, please. I want you, only you.”

A shift on the mattress, and then Arthur was pressing a solid kiss to the tip of his ear and tracing his spine with delicate fingertips.

“Say that again.”

Merlin blinked his eyes open and focused on the handsome face—Arthur was so, _so_ handsome—beside him. The deepest blue eyes were full of affection, but there was a resolve somewhere in them as well, one that Merlin had never seen in him before.

“What?” he whispered, his brain feeling sluggish in his haze of arousal.

Merlin recognized the nervousness in the way Arthur bit his lower lip, and when the king spoke it was almost a question rather than another command.

“Only me,” he murmured, almost hummed, with a tiny smile on his gorgeously full, kissed-red lips. “Say it again?”

Merlin breathed out of his mouth as his toes curled again, the most powerful wave of pleasure yet hitting him.

“Only you,” he groaned, lifting one trembling hand to touch fumblingly at Arthur’s face, over his hair, along his cheek, at his throat.

Arthur gripped Merlin’s wrist and held his hand in place cupping the king’s face, his smile growing a little.

“I was made for you,” Merlin told him, feeling for the very first time like he was free to say anything and everything his heart desired, without having to worry about making Arthur feel strange or uncomfortable with the intensity of it. “I was born for this, for you, Arthur, only you. I belonged to you before I met you. I want you to know that. I need you to understand how much I love you.”

He had been so caught up in trying to make some sense of his own feelings past the deliriousness of his arousal, he hadn’t noticed the look on Arthur’s face.

The king had stopped stroking his warlock’s back as he listened to the broken ramblings that might have sounded trite if they came from anyone else but were the most eternal promises from this man. He let go of Merlin’s hand so that he could lean down and drape himself over the sorcerer. Encircling his arms around the narrower chest, he dug his face into the dark hair and pressed a long, sweet kiss to the back of his neck.

Merlin closed his eyes and simply felt him.

Then, Arthur could not stand it anymore. His erection throbbed between his legs, and he pushed off with a final quick kiss to crawl down to the foot of the bed; bending over the side, he picked up the bottle of bath oil from the floor and then shifted between Merlin’s legs once again. He tried to mimic how he’d seen the sorcerer do it before, tried to go as slow and easy as he thought he should, but his hand shook and it took every bit of strength he had not to shove his cock in the moment Merlin’s hole tightened greedily around his first finger.

He was so hot and tight that Arthur, in a moment of senselessness, was furious at himself for not doing this sooner. How long would he have been enjoying this, if not for his own blindness? He vowed to make up for lost time with all the time they had remaining.

Gripping the slender hip so hard with one hand it would surely leave bruises, Arthur added a second finger and relished in the loud and insistent noises Merlin made above. The warlock was squirming where he lay, struggling to keep still but jolting with every twist and plunge of Arthur’s fingers inside him. His movements were so disjointed that it took the king a moment to realize he was trying to ride his fingers, pushing up and then back down minutely and moaning each time as his unseen cock rubbed against the pillow and Arthur’s fingers slipped in and out.

“ _Arthur_ ,” he hissed after only moments of preparation, “ _please_. Please, take me. Take me, please. I want you. I want you.”

Arthur pushed up onto his knees and lined himself up with his opening. Gripping himself in one hand, he pressed his tip against him and groaned roughly when Merlin pushed back. The sorcerer released his grip on the blankets and reached back with both of his own hands to spread himself open.

Arthur’s breath caught at the almost offering-like gesture, and then he was pushing himself in. He took in measured breaths as he did, steeling himself against the sensations until he was in to the base and his sack was pressed against Merlin.

For a long while, Arthur moved slowly. He shifted positions only twice; first, he moved to pull the pillow from under Merlin’s hips so that he could straddle his thighs as he worked himself in and out of his hole. Some minutes later, he tilted Merlin’s body sideways a bit so that he could move faster and deeper.

Merlin, for his part, did little except allow it. He shifted when Arthur did, adjusting his own position solely for the purpose of making it easier on the king to get inside him. He could not stop himself from grunting and moaning with each methodic thrust, and he didn’t really try to stop; Arthur seemed to enjoy hearing his noises even more than he enjoyed making them, going by the way he made sure to hit only the spots that made him groan the loudest. His cock throbbed almost painfully, especially when Arthur turned him a bit so that it was exposed to the cool open air, but he did not try to touch it. The only thing he wanted to feel was Arthur.

The king bent down several times to kiss his bare skin on his shoulder, his arm, his throat, wherever he could reach; his hands touched him all over, caressing the warlock’s milky skin with a softness Merlin had once thought nonexistent in him, but now proved to be a natural part of his being.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Arthur abruptly sped up for a few seconds before a rough groan tore from his throat; he dropped his body over Merlin’s, shoving himself in with one brutal thrust that Merlin felt all the way to his core. Then the sorcerer could feel the warmth of the other man’s seed filling him up, the thick cock twitching against his insides, and he let out a cut-off cry before his own vision went white.

It wasn’t until Arthur reached shakily down to find Merlin’s cock that he realized—it was still jumping slightly at his touch, but it was softening. He looked up from where his face had been buried in Merlin’s back and saw that every candle in his chambers was now lit. Even the charred pieces of log in the fireplace were glowing faintly with flame. He was almost sorry he’d missed seeing Merlin’s eyes change this time, but couldn’t bring himself to care too much. He was so very comfortable like this, and somehow it was extremely fulfilling that Merlin had come untouched.

The warlock worked to catch his breath as he drifted in a drowsy blur, never opening his eyes until several minutes later when he scrunched his face in discomfort as Arthur pulled out carefully.

He rolled over onto his back and focused sleepy eyes on Arthur.

The king was sighing deeply, looking as perfect as Merlin had ever seen, sweat drying on his face and chest as he stretched on his back. Finally he turned his head to look at Merlin, and his tired smile made it all seem as natural as any other moment in their lives.

_“Drysne se blaestmas.”_

Merlin’s eyes flashed again, this time on purpose, and all the flames around the room went out like a gust of invisible wind swept through.

Without another word, Arthur rolled onto his side and pressed his head under Merlin’s jaw, tossing one arm across his abdomen. Merlin wrapped his arms around him, and there was an almost misplaced familiarity which he soon recognized as being from several months ago, when Arthur had rested against him like this in the top of the Dark Tower.

With a peculiar sense of triumph at that thought, Merlin let sleep overtake him at last.

\-------------------------------------------

After that, everything changed—and nothing did.

The morning after their return, Arthur promptly informed the council of their new status; from his place beside him in the meeting, Merlin noted how, unlike many years before with Guinevere, Arthur did not actually _ask_ the council for any kind of permission or approval. Rather, he humbly but straightforwardly told them that Merlin had long-since earned his place, and that he hoped the elders trusted them both enough to recognize the wisdom of their decision. Apparently they did, because there was neither a word of protest nor a look of dissatisfaction from anyone. One well-meaning member even raised his hand to ask if Merlin should not have finer clothes than he did now, to go with his new assumed rank. At that suggestion, Merlin knew he looked dumbfounded; at worst he’d expected open doubt, and at best, neutral allowance. He’d had no idea these solemn-faced old men seemed to support him so much; he hadn’t even thought they much noticed him lingering in Arthur’s shadow as he’d always done.

At the question, Arthur glanced at Merlin’s attire, eyes roving hastily from the top of his windswept head to his boot-clad feet, and diplomatically answered that they’d work all that out in the coming weeks.

They never did formally announce it to the people, choosing instead to take the path slowly, maneuvering through the new twists and turns of their relationship on their own. But it was probably fairly obvious to their ever-observant citizens, especially when, only a couple of weeks in, Arthur began to plant random and unprompted kisses to Merlin’s cheekbones throughout the day, no matter where they happened to be when the fancy struck him. Merlin had chosen to let Arthur lead in any public displays of affection, concerned both for the king’s image and his personal comfort; he had every reason to assume things would not change much on the public face, so these kisses were as surprising to him as they no doubt were to any passersby that happened to be glancing their way. He tried to be as nonchalant as possible about it, to match the almost youthful carelessness Arthur exhibited, but nonetheless he felt himself blush every time.

Merlin didn’t start out sleeping in Arthur’s chambers every night, but after one five-day-long period during which their duties left them too exhausted for sex, Arthur appeared at his chamber door after they’d already said goodnight. A bit grumpily, he demanded that Merlin grab some clothes (so that he wouldn’t have to keep borrowing Arthur’s) and follow him back to the king’s rooms. They fell into the bed, Arthur wrapped around Merlin with his breaths tickling the hair at the back of the sorcerer’s neck. Merlin stayed awake only long enough to ponder how Arthur’s chambers seemed to be much warmer and more welcoming than his own, a fact he’d never noticed before. He never went back to his rooms any night after that, whether they had sex or not, and his little pile of clothes mixed with Arthur’s in the wardrobe while his scent mixed with Arthur’s in the blankets.

They might have walked a bit closer, and laughed a little more frequently, and touched rather more often than before, but other than these things, nothing else actually changed. It seemed they had been living a shared life much longer than either of them had realized.

Merlin still stole food from Arthur’s plate during breakfast, and Arthur still hurled pillows at his head when he was being irksome. They still talked confidentially in a corner together when there was some critical decision to be made, and Merlin’s magic still encircled and protected Arthur at every sign of danger. Their closest friends still treated Merlin with the same dignity and equality they always had, even if their typical brotherly teasing had advanced to jokes about Arthur’s tendency to take up most of the bed and Merlin’s tendency to steal the king’s clothes.

One morning Arthur left early to ride with the patrol, and Merlin happened to be in the square outside the castle when they returned. The king leapt from his horse and indelicately presented Merlin with a handful of purple irises, to which the warlock quirked one questioning brow, aware that the knights were watching eagerly whilst trying to pretend they weren’t.

Biting his lip, Arthur flushed and his face fell just slightly at Merlin’s initial reaction.

“They were Gwaine’s idea,” he stated awkwardly, still holding the flowers out to him.

Seeing his frankly adorable uncertainty and embarrassment, Merlin couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face, and he took the flowers willingly and cradled them in one arm.

“Thank you,” he said, a little playfully but mostly with complete sincerity.

Arthur met his eyes and offered a half-grin of satisfaction at his token’s being accepted. Then, just because it seemed like the thing to do, Merlin wrapped his free hand around Arthur’s neck and planted a long kiss to his lips.

Arthur kissed him back with one hand firm on his hip under his cloak, and they both could practically feel their friends exuding joy behind them as time paused for a moment and the summer sunlight brightened the whole courtyard.

 

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a cheesy ending. x) I also just love Gwaine being a devious little rat this whole story--it was so much fun to describe! I really hope you guys are satisfied with this chapter. Like I said before, I was surprised to have gotten as many comments and kudos as I did, and I'm so thankful! I really wanted to give you an ending for Merlin and Arthur you'd like. <3 Remember to look out for the epilogue. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a friend ask (complain) about Rayne not getting a happy ending, and everyone who commented seemed to really like him as well. I have to admit I just wrote him as a way to get Merlin and Arthur together, but I ended up enjoying his character too, and I didn't want to leave him alone in the end, so here you go—the EXTRA-extra part, the one in which ~~Arthur finally realizes he’s an idiot~~ Sir Rayne meets a green-eyed baker. :)

It was a funny thing to Rayne, how by the time spring arrived he had lived in winter for so long he’d convinced himself he enjoyed it, but as soon as the warm weather settled over the land, he always realized how foolish it was to ever have liked the cold. Compared to the chilly deadness of winter, springtime in Nemeth was glorious. Warmth meant _life_ , and not just for the blossoming plants and awakening animals all around the castle, but for the people inside it as well.

Though he was not required to patrol every day, oftentimes he was outdoors anyway, accompanying his friends on their duties, sparring on the training grounds before official training times began, or just wandering the market and enjoying the excitement that buzzed all around. However, this morning he had opened his window and found the air so fresh and the sun so balmy that he lingered in his room for a while longer, taking his time cooking a small stew over the fire and reading. He had never been much of a reader, but now that his prejudice against magic was gone much like the gloom of winter, he could not get enough of the material Merlin had left behind. Just as the warlock had warned him, it was slow-going, but every day he felt a little more in touch with the magic inside his soul, and so he would keep reaching for it the rest of his life.

He smiled as he thought of Merlin, how he had obviously been wearing King Arthur’s clothes the morning they’d departed a little over a week ago now. Of course he would have loved for Merlin to be more to him than just his friend, but he could not deny that everything had turned out right. Even having known them for only a couple of days, he could see that Arthur had a claim to Merlin no one else could hope to challenge. With that understanding, Rayne could be happy to have received whatever blessings he had from helpful, good-hearted Merlin and leave it at that.

At that moment there was a knock at his door. He stood, half-expecting a summons to an unplanned meeting or something like that, only to be completely confused when he saw who waited there in the corridor.

The first thing his eyes landed on was a green that sparkled like jewels in the sunlight. He took a half-second to realize the green gems were actually a pair of big, round eyes looking at him out from under long lashes the same shade of warm blonde as the mess of curly hair he noticed next. Though this man must have been about Rayne’s age, the thick honey-colored ringlets and spatter of freckles over his soft face made him seem younger for a moment. The faint smell of freshly baked bread danced in the air as the knight abruptly realized the curiously blinking man was waiting for him to speak before he explained himself.

“May I help you?”

As he asked he noticed his surprising visitor had a small boy by the arm, and he immediately recognized the disgruntled face peering up at him through uncombed brown locks. It was the boy from the market, the one Merlin had stopped him from punishing for using magic to steal an apple. Rayne had almost forgotten about that; though it had barely been over a week ago, he felt like a different person now.

“Are you Sir Rayne?” the man asked in a voice almost too grown-up to match his youthful demeanor.

The knight glanced down at the boy again, unsure of how he should be reacting to this unexpected scenario.

“I am,” he replied, carefully.

“Sir Rayne, my name is Sterling and this is my younger brother, Maddox. I am here to apologize for what he did in the market a few days ago. I would have come sooner, but he only told me about it yesterday and it took time to find you. Maddox understands now that what he did was wrong; it was very kind of you to let him go, so we brought you something as a token of gratitude.”

He pushed the child forward, and Maddox deliberately avoided the knight’s gaze as he held out a wicker basket with plain thin fabric encasing something inside.

“I hope you like manchet loaves,” Sterling said with a crooked smile that looked as sweet as the bread smelled. “They’re from the bakery where I work, in the lower town. I put extra honey in them because that’s how I like them. I hope that’s all right with you, Sir Rayne, and I hope you can forgive my brother for any trouble he caused you.”

Dumbfounded, Rayne blinked down at the basket in his hands, then at the small boy who shuffled his feet guiltily against the floor, then at the frankly beautiful baker standing before him with hopeful green eyes. He realized after a heartbeat that he must have looked rather stupid with his mouth hanging open, and so he grasped for something appropriate to say. It only took moment of pondering before he knew exactly how he must reply, and he bent down onto his knee so that he was at eye level with the child.

“Thank you, Maddox,” he said, feeling quite awkward (because though he loved children he had not interacted with many in the last few years of battle training). “I appreciate the bread. And I must apologize to you, as well. It was wrong of me to shout at you the way I did. I hope you know we knights are men you can trust; we’ve sworn an oath to protect you, and you never need to be afraid of us. I’m sorry if I scared you. Will you forgive me, too?”

At last, the boy lifted his eyes to look at Rayne, and there was definitely some mischief hidden in those depths, but now that he was looking he could see plenty of gentleness too. Maddox nodded with a wide smile—missing one tooth, Rayne noticed—that brightened the morning more than the springtime sunshine ever could.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and flipped up the cloth covering the basket. “Would you like some of this bread?”

The boy’s hand shot out to snatch one of the rolls, and he grinned widely with much more confidence than he’d first shown.

“Thank you, Sir Knight!” he said, taking a big bite out of the still-warm loaf.

Rayne stood to his feet again, only to find himself frozen at the look Sterling was giving him, full of warmth and wonder he felt he did not quite deserve, given his behavior that day in the market. He smiled, not daring to imagine he was seeing attraction somewhere in there as well, and then Sterling patted his brother’s shoulder.

“You can go back to your friends, Maddie. Just be at the house before sunset.”

With one last smile and another big bite of bread, the boy meandered down the hall and out of sight.

“Thank you for showing so much kindness,” Sterling said once his brother had gone. “I try to keep him out of trouble, but it’s just the two of us since our parents passed and so I must leave him alone sometimes while I work. He’s a good boy. He’s just very imaginative and sometimes that leads him astray.”

“I understand,” Rayne said, thinking back to his own sisters before they’d passed, and how they could cause their fair share of trouble. “I was at fault as well. It’s all over now. Thank you for the bread.”

“Of course. You may keep the basket as well. I have plenty.”

There was a beat of silence in which it seemed they both desired to say something else, but nothing else came, and so the baker turned to leave.

“Well, good day, Sir Rayne.”

He got two steps away by the time Rayne thought of another question, which he blurted out as he dove into the corridor to catch him.

“If you don’t mind my asking—”

Sterling turned and blinked at him.

“—where did Maddox learn it?”

The blond man blinked again, twice.

“Learn…what?”

Rayne cursed himself for the clumsy oaf he could be and clarified what he meant, pushing down his excitement and regaining his slipping composure.

“The spell he used, on the apple in the market—where did he get it from?”

Sterling’s smile grew a bit bashful, his cheeks turning pinker than they naturally were.

“Oh, that was from me. Since Queen Mithian lifted the ban on magic, I’ve been trying to learn. I’m afraid I’m better at baking, but I can do a few little spells from a book I bought in the lower town. But don’t worry; the only spells in the book are as harmless as the apple one, and it won’t happen again.”

“Actually,” Rayne said before Sterling could even try taking another step, “I recently became interested in magic. I have a few spells that Merlin, of Camelot, gave to me. I thought, perhaps, we could exchange? I’d love to learn anything new I can.”

Sterling’s mouth had fallen open slightly.

“You know Merlin of Camelot?” he asked, a bit breathlessly.

It was Rayne’s turn to blush, remembering how strongly he’d felt about Merlin only days ago. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but he couldn’t help but think perhaps this was the reason for all of that. Before last week, he would have shunned any man who practiced magic, no matter how soft his curls or sparkly his eyes or lovely his dimples. Merlin hadn’t just freed Rayne of his hatred; he’d opened his heart again to new possibilities after Terrance. Perhaps this green-eyed baker was why.

“We met when he was here last week,” he answered, vaguely enough, pushing aside his hopes until he could be sure. “He told me the spells he left were for beginners. I’ve been practicing on my own but I’d love to have a fellow student of magic to train with me. I’ve just made a beef stew, and we could…talk, for a bit, and share the bread you made? If you can stay, that is.”

Sterling was quiet for so long Rayne wondered if he should just withdraw his offer and spare them both any more embarrassment. He knew he was being rather obvious, and he hadn’t even asked if Sterling was seeing someone, or if he would even be interested in the company of another man at all. Maybe he seemed rude or disrespectful. Maybe Sterling felt no attraction to him whatsoever. 

But then the baker spoke, sounding equally as excited as he felt and not attempting to cover it up in the least, and Rayne’s doubts disappeared just like his fear of magic, just like the winter’s cold.

“I can stay. Yes, I can absolutely stay. I would love to share stew and bread and talk about magic, Sir Rayne.”

His heart pounding much faster than it ever had in any battle, Rayne grinned outright and pushed his chamber door open again.

“Please,” he said, “just call me Rayne. You don’t have to say ‘Sir.’”

Sterling paused in the doorway, so close to him he could count the freckles on the other man’s nose. The baker smiled in a way that made his eyes sparkle even brighter, and his voice was soft and sweet and candid.

“I’m so glad to meet you, Rayne.”

As the knight closed the door behind them, he silently bade an eternal, loving farewell to Terrance and a heartfelt thank-you to Merlin for opening his eyes to all the beauty and joy he could have missed before.

 

**_The End (for real this time)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm thinking of adding another story or two to this series eventually, just so you can be on the lookout if you'd like. I hope you have a fantastic rest of your week and thanks again!


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